Meliana's Chance
by truegold-dragonstar
Summary: A few seconds after Meliana met K'beth, her life was in danger. A few minutes later, she was flying on dragonback on her way to Ista Weyr. And a few days later, people started to die...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: Well… here I am again… kind of hoping that you guys will like this one as much as the last… just remember to review, please! If you're a new reader, then don't worry, you don't have to have read my earlier story to understand and like this one – but if you do like this one, you might want to look up **_**Lystar Fool**_**, which comes before this.**

**Hi to all my old friends! And hi also to all the new friends I hope I'm gonna make!**

**I apologise in advance that updates may be _extremely_ slow on this story. However, I'm pretty good about finishing off stories, so I expect I'll get there in the end.

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The wind whipped K'beth's hair out of his face as they coasted upwards and he shook out his stiff shoulders, patting his green dragon's soft hide. _It'll be good to be home, huh?_ he asked. _Still, I feel like a bit of a failure. I can't believe we finished a whole Search without even finding _one_ decent candidate! I wonder how the others got on?_

_As usual_, Rosith said, leveling out her flight so that she could coast gently without using too much energy.

K'beth laughed. _That bad, huh? Come on, let's get back to the Weyr and you'll feel better. Ready to hop _between? He closed his eyes and imagined the volcanic cone of Ista Weyr spread out beneath him.

After a minute he opened his eyes. _Rosith, love, I asked you to take me back to the Weyr_.

_That's a nice lake down there_… Rosith said, wistfully.

K'beth groaned, and leaned over to look. He could see what looked like a small Hold not far away, but no buildings beside the lake itself, which shimmered like an uneven shaped jewel in the pale sunshine. _Where are we?_

_We came east. We're nearly at the border of Nerat_.

_All right. I guess you've worked hard enough to deserve your fun. Go on down_.

_Hold on tight_, Rosith warned. She waited for K'beth to get a firm hold on his riding straps and then flipped over on a wingtip to plummett downwards towards the round blue lake she'd spotted. She held the dive until the last minute, skimming the surface of the water with her claws as she leveled out and throwing spray over her rider.

He laughed as she landed on the lakeshore, shaking the water out of his dark hair, and divested Rosith of her saddle. _No, go play by yourself. I don't want to be wet and have to jump _between_. You're _sure_ you wouldn't rather swim at the Weyr? I want to see my friends_.

Rosith splashed underwater and then surfaced again, blowing bubbles at him. _When you say that, you mean you want to see _Lystar.

K'beth smiled self-conciously. _Well, so what? I _do_ want to see her_.

_Hmph_. Rosith submerged herself again, scattering a spray of water droplets.

K'beth laughed and sat down, easing out his shoulders and stretching cramped muscles. The sky was filled with a patchy mess of swirling cloud, and sunshine and shadow whirled over him as he rested, feeling Rosith's pleasure as she dived and swam around the shallow lake.

He couldn't have said what made him look round. He certainly didn't hear anything. All at once, he had a sudden feeling that he was being watched. He jumped to his feet as he whipped his head around.

A few paces away, half-hidden behind a tree at the edge of the scrubby woodland behind him, a girl stood wide-eyed and poised to flee.

She's frightened, was the instant thought that came to him, even as he relaxed and smiled. 'Hello.'

The girl didn't say anything, just watched him intently from between lowered brows, but he thought that her taut body relaxed just slightly.

He smiled at her again, reassuringly, as he surreptitiously inspected her face. She was dirty, with her long dark hair tangled and dragged back from a face that was probably brown-skinned, angular and delicate under the smudges of mud and the dark bags under her eyes. Her eyes were huge and deep brown, and they were watching him suspiciously.

K'beth frowned and held out a hand. 'Are you all right? You look like you could use some help…' He couldn't tell how old she was. No more than ten years younger than him, he'd have guessed. Perhaps in her early teens? She was quite small, but not really a child any more. 'Are you hungry?' He dragged a strip of dried meat out of his belt pouch and tore it in two, biting into one half. His stomach growled and he realised with a little shock of surprise that he was starving. He should be getting back to the Weyr, not wasting his time with some girl in the middle of nowhere. _Rosith love, are you ready to go?_

_Soon_, Rosith said, plaintively, floating gently up to the surface, almost invisible with just her nose above water. _One minute more?_

The little dark girl was edging out of the woods towards K'beth, who held out the other half of the meat. Slowly, never taking her watchful eyes off his face, she reached out and took it from him, and stuffed it into her mouth in one piece, her cheeks bulging.

'That's better.' K'beth grinned at her. 'What's your name?'

The girl eyed him suspiciously, then said in a small, clear voice, 'Meliana.'

'THAT'S HER!' The shout came from a little way around the shore of the lake, where a dirt road ran close to the waterside. Jumping round, K'beth saw a little huddle of people, led by a stout man mounted on a shaggy runnerbeast, leave the road and come streaming along the lakeside towards them.

He felt Meliana shift beside him and instinctively reached out to grab her arm and stop her running away. 'You haven't got time! That forest won't slow men on foot, and there's not enough cover to hide. I don't suppose you'd like to tell me what you did?'

'I didn't do anything!'

K'beth glanced round at her, but before he had time to say anything else the runnerbeast was thundering down at him. He thrust Meliana behind him, still holding her wrist, and turned to face the angry man. _Sweetheart, get here please!_ he called.

'Give me that girl!' snarled the red-faced man, forcing the runnerbeast right up to K'beth and jabbing his finger at the dragonrider's face. 'I don't know who you are, but –'

Rosith exploded out of the water like a primeval sea beast in an explosion of spray and angry dragon. She landed beside K'beth, eyes whirling red and teeth bared, and the unfortunate runnerbeast danced up onto its hind legs as it backed up and broke away, throwing its rider. K'beth made use of the time as the man picked himself up, face crimson with fury to sling the green dragon's saddle back on and fasten the straps with the precise economy of an often-practised move. He'd let go of Meliana to do so, but the girl had the sense not to run for it. Instead she backed up against Rosith, daring her pursuer to come within the dragon's reach to grab her.

The men on foot had caught up with their leader by this time. One had caught the panicking runnerbeast, and was standing well back with it, trying to sooth the animal which was still reacting to the terror of the dragon's presence, jerking its head about, eyes rolling madly and foam flecks flying from its mouth. The others had formed a cluster around their leader, and they were hanging back, fazed by Rosith's sudden appearance on the scene.

K'beth surveyed them coolly. There were a certain number of weapons visible, which made him uneasy. None of them would attack a dragonrider, though. No one was _that_ stupid…

The fat leader stepped forwards again, and K'beth noticed this time that his clothes were well-made, rather better than the rest of the crowd, whom he took for ordinary Holders. Before it was covered in greasy stains, his tunic had evidently been fine, dyed cloth. On his own feet, however, the man was several inches shorter than K'beth, and the dragonrider looked down at him.

'Now, see here,' the man began, aggressively, 'you're a dragonrider, you've no business with the girl. She's a danger to us all and I've a right to do something about it!'

'What would "something" be?' K'beth enquired, coldly.

There was a general muttering and shifting within the group. No one seemed to want to say anything outright. 'It's for the best,' one man muttered. He coloured up when K'beth looked round at him, and his mumbling died away to nothing. 'It's our wives and children we're thinking of…'

'I see,' said K'beth. 'Well, as it so happens, you're wrong. I do have business with Meliana. I'm riding Search, and _she_ is coming with me to Ista Weyr.'

_I didn't Search her!_ Rosith said, surprised.

_I know. But hush. Ready to go, love?_ he muttered silently. As the group of Holders looked at each other, breaking into a welter of confusion and unhappy muttering, he boosted Meliana up into the saddle and swung himself up behind her. Looking down on the Holders, he nodded once, distantly. _Take it away, Rosith_.

The Holders backed away hastily as Rosith spread her wings, and beat them furiously as she leapt off the ground, spiraling in circles around the lake to gain height. K'beth pictured his home Weyr in his head, his barely concealed fury helping to make every detail sharp and crystal clear. The last thing he heard was the red-faced man shouting something, his fist raised.

He remembered to mutter to the girl, 'Hold tight, and you may want to hold your breath.' Her hand closed sharply around his forearm, and then Rosith leapt _between_.

* * *

_Rosith and K'beth are back_, reported Caliath. 

_Did they find any candidates?_ Lystar asked, absently. Her attention was currently taken up with the tunic she was repairing, trying to make her stitches small and neat – not something that came naturally to her. Her head was tilted on one side to bring the work into the centre of her vision. She had been blind in one eye for several years.

_One – a girl_. There was a pause, and then Caliath added. _Orth says that as G'zul is busy we should go and settle her into the candidate barracks_.

'Excellent.' Lystar grinned, discarded her sewing onto the floor, and leapt to her feet. _C'mon then, Cal. Let's go see them_. She bounced out of the weyr that she and K'beth shared and swung herself up onto Caliath's broad blue shoulders for the short glide down into the Weyr bowl.

The blue dragon landed right beside the slender, elegant green, and the two dragons touched noses in greeting as Lystar tumbled off Caliath's back. Before she hit the ground she was caught in strong arms, and looked up into K'beth's grinning face. 'One day you're going to learn to take care,' he remarked.

'And wouldn't life be boring if I did?' Lystar retorted. 'Put me down!'

'Oh no, I think not.' K'beth bent his head so that his face was close to hers. 'At least, not without a ransom…'

Lystar laughed, and thumped him lightly on the chest. 'I'm supposed to be meeting your candidate, not you!' Then she grinned and gave him a quick kiss.

K'beth laughed too, and set her on her feet. 'All right then, come and meet her…' He stepped aside so that Lystar could see the solemn-faced girl who had dismounted quietly from Rosith's back and was glancing around the Weyr with guarded eyes. 'Meliana, this is Lystar, the assistant weyrling master, and that's her dragon Caliath. _This_ is Meliana, Lystar.'

Lystar grinned. 'Hey. Let's go and get you settled in. Do you have any stuff?'

The dark girl shook her head.

Lystar nooded. 'Right, in that case we'll drop into the stores first. And you look like you could use a bath, too. Come on, it's this way.'

She dropped a hand onto Meliana's shoulder to steer her in the right direction, and then briefly stopped, catching K'beth's eye.

'I'm going to change and then get some food,' K'beth said. 'I think Meliana probably needs some too. See you later.'

Lystar smiled. 'Yes. Right, come on, Meliana.'

* * *

Lystar leant against the wall as she waited for Meliana to finish washing and get into the new clothes she'd found. K'beth's candidate was a strange girl, no doubt about it. She was dark and wary and suspicious and silent and… 

Lystar shook her head. She would have to keep an eye on Meliana, and it would be hard. She wasn't the type to confide her troubles. Then again, Lystar was notoriously good at persuading people to talk to her.

_Cal? Where does Rosith say they picked up this girl?_ she asked.

_Somewhere in a far-flung corner of Keroon. She shouldn't be a candidate at all, Rosith says_.

_What?_ Lystar frowned. _What do you mean? Wasn't she Searched?_

_No. Not exactly_. Lystar could feel Caliath's exasperated shifting. _Some idea of K'beth's. She was in danger and the only way he could think of to get her out of it was to bring her to the Weyr_.

_Oh, poor girl! What happened to her, Cal, do you know?_

_No. Ask K'beth_.

_I will_. Lystar drew her eyebrows together as a thought hit her. _Does this mean that she won't Impress?_

_No – not necessarily. But I'm not a very good Search dragon, so how am I supposed to tell?_

_It doesn't matter_. Lystar turned and smiled as Meliana drew aside the hide curtain covering the door of the bathing room, opening her mouth to speak. Then she blinked, and paused. Cleaned up, Meliana was very pretty indeed, with delicate, almost elfin, features that set off her huge dark eyes. Her long, dark hair had been braided into a thick plait that hung down her back almost as far as her waist.

Lystar shook her head slightly and recovered herself. 'I wouldn't have recognised you! Now, if you come along this way –' She led the way along the corridor, and pushed aside another hide covering. Inside the room, seven girls looked round from where they were sitting on beds or on the floor '– this is the girl's barracks, where all of you candidates will sleep until the Hatching. This is Meliana, everyone, introduce yourselves and then show her where to come down for dinner, will you? I want to catch G'zul – that's the weyrling master,' she explained to Meliana. She grinned at the girls and then went out again, leaving the little dark girl standing alone in the doorway.

All this time, Meliana had not said a single word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

'G'zul! G'zul!' Lystar waved an arm to attract the attention of the old, scarred weyrling master, who raised a hand in acknowledgement and strolled across the Weyr bowl to meet her. It was very hot already, and the sun was pouring down on Ista out of a cloudless blue sky. Lystar sighed with frustration, shrugging sweaty shoulders. Usually she liked summer, but this was the hottest year that anyone at Ista could remember.

'What's up, Lystar?' G'zul asked her as he arrived. 'Got a problem?'

'Not really,' she said, cheerfully. 'Just wondering if Oreth'd had time to take a look at Meliana yet?'

'Oh, yes, I should've told you,' said G'zul. 'I wanted to ask… Oreth thinks she's a fantastic candidate. He wanted to know what Rosith thought she was doing _not_ to Search her.'

Lystar drew her eyebrows together. She'd now had the full story out of K'beth about the unusual circumstances of his meeting with Meliana, and although they'd told R'lan and Reia, the Weyrleaders, they'd said that it didn't need to go any further. Lystar was perfectly ready to keep the dark girl's secret. She knew that _she_ wouldn't want that kind of history widely known around the Weyr, and she'd gone out of her way to help provide Meliana with the things that she needed without drawing attention to the fact that she hadn't even brought the most basic items from home.

But G'zul knew part of the story, so it was safe to speculate a little. 'I don't know,' Lystar admitted. 'They didn't meet Meliana until after their Search was officially ended, that's why Rosith wasn't on the lookout. But I've _no_ idea why they – or anyone else – didn't come across her during their official Search. I mean, I know Searching is a bit flaky sometimes, you can't really visit _every_ Hold, but…' She frowned. 'But none of our other candidates are from that part of Pern, either, are they?' _Cal_, she added, _can you ask Ilmeth_ – he was the big bronze belonging to K'beth's wing leader – _if anybody Searched that area?_

Caliath grunted in acknowledgement. A couple of minutes later, he came back to her with the answer. _No. Ilmeth tells me that they personally would have been responsible for eastern Keroon, but when they touched down at the Lord's Hold they were warned not to go that way for fear of plague_.

Lystar blinked. _Plague?

* * *

_

'Plague?' asked K'beth. 'Well, that would explain things, I guess. People panic, when that kind of thing happens. That could be what Meliana ended up on the receiving end of. Or maybe she's a young thief who took advantage of the circumstances. If you're bold enough to go into a plague Hold to steal… well, there isn't anyone mad enough to stop you. Or she could… I don't know. I like her and I don't want to believe bad stuff, but I can't pretend I know anything about her.'

'No,' said Lystar, turning her head to watch the shadows chase each other across the rippling surface of the lake. She and K'beth were sitting by the water's edge, watching their dragons floating lazily on their backs, occasionally flipping over to blow a stream of bubbles at each other or their riders. 'She's hard to get through to. I don't know if I'm making any progress, even. She's so silent.'

K'beth looked down at her, concerned. 'Hey, you can't solve Pern's problems, Lystar. You shouldn't let it get to you so much. You're not responsible for her.'

'But I know she's unhappy, K'beth!' Lystar turned her head to face him. 'She never says a word except in answer to a direct question, she does everything you tell her quickly and quietly, she never cries or shows any emotion at all, and I _know_ she's unhappy!'

K'beth put an arm around her and gently smoothed back her wild mane of hair. 'I know. And she's been scared. But if she isn't going to trust you, then you can't help her. Not yet. Give her time. When she's used to the Weyr, how things work here, when she's used to _you_, then let her talk when she's ready. And meanwhile, don't worry yourself to death over her.'

Lystar sighed, and leaned her head against K'beth's chest. 'I suppose. You know, sometimes I think I've bitten off more than I can chew with the weyrlings. Or, you know, the candidates now. I mean, it's not just Meliana, although she's probably my biggest problem. There's Robren too, who's about as responsive to dragons as a block of wood, but he's weyrborn so it's his right to stand – his father's R'lor, you know, and he won't even _hear_ of Robren maybe taking up a craft instead, which is what he'd like and be best suited for. And Jedris, who's so hypersensitive that he's on the brink of tears every few minutes, but so loaded with Power that he's bound to Impress anyway. Actually, I think that's most of his problem, he's so sensitive because he's picking up on people's thoughts and emotions around him, but… it sure doesn't make him easy to deal with. And then there's all the others, and they've all got their own personalities _and_ their own problems, and there's fifty-three of them!'

'And you know every one of them and all about them, _and_ you remember it all,' said K'beth, gently. 'You always think you can't manage, Lystar. I think you go through life afraid of that, but you always do cope. You can do anything – remember?'

Lystar lifted her head and smiled at him. 'I remember. It's easy when you're around. Come on, let's go get some dinner.' She slipped an arm through K'beth's and they turned to walk back towards the Weyr.

* * *

Meliana was sitting in a shadowy corner of the dining cavern, alone as usual. She'd finished her food long ago, but there was a half-drunk beaker of klah sitting on the table in front of her, which she sipped from occasionally, keeping her eyes on the room. She wanted to know everything that was going on. She wanted to know where people were and what they were doing, who was who and where everything was kept. That way she'd be able to look after herself, whatever happened. Even if they wanted to get rid of her.

She was able to be completely alone because most of the Weyr were clustered at the other end of the hall, sitting on a series of benches arranged in a rough semicircle around where a visiting Harper was sitting, laughing as he chatted to the assembled company in between playing and singing requested songs on his gitar.

Melania eyed them all with distaste. It all seemed so trivial, like the idle chatter of the other female candidates, the girls she was sharing a room with. They were up there now, she saw, along with most of the male candidates too, and they seemed to be asking the Harper to play something that they could dance to. She watched them steadily, taking in every persons' movements. Half unconciously, she was tensed to run. Through the storeroom would be the best route, then she could grab some food on her way through. There was a tunnel that led out of the Weyr on foot, she'd checked out its location a few days back. Yes, she could escape.

But it'd be nice not to have to…

A movement caught her eye, and she looked up sharply as a figure broke away from the group around the Harper and came towards her. She vaguely recognised the tall sandy-haired man as one of a pair of twin weyrling brownriders – G'den or G'shar, she couldn't tell which. She narrowed her eyes. Why did he want to talk to her?

'Meliana!' said the young man, as he arrived. 'Why are you over here in the corner by yourself?'

She eyed him silently. It wasn't the kind of question that she ever bothered to answer.

G'den – or possibly G'shar – seemed slightly discomforted by her response. He paused, a little bit too long, and then, recovering himself, said pleadingly, 'You'll come over and join the rest of us, won't you? Will you dance with me?'

Meliana blinked. Would she _what_? 'No,' she said, automatically, sounding cool and calm, but her thoughts were racing. What? She didn't even know his name – well, she _did_, but she didn't know which twin he was, which was almost as bad.

'Oh,' said the dragonrider, disappointed. 'Well – still think about coming over, won't you? Everyone wants you to.' He paused for a minute, but when Meliana said nothing else he turned slowly on his heel and went away, glancing back over his shoulder. When he reached the far end of the hall he was quickly absorbed into a group of young men his own age, his brother among them. Meliana watched him go.

They all wanted her to go and join in? Nonsense. She knew that the other candidates thought that she was haughty and unfriendly – and frankly, she didn't care. What did that matter to anything? What _mattered_ was to be independent and cautious, and always have an escape route.

Meliana blinked again. She'd liked dancing, once…

She sensed a movement in the corner of her eye, and flicked her head up to see K'beth and Lystar entering the room, arm in arm and laughing, through the main door from the Weyr bowl. Involuntarily, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards, and she forced it down again, so that when Lystar looked around and met her eyes a second later she was scowling ferociously.

Inside, she was shocked. She knew – it made sense – it was the only way – to keep to herself, to keep her own secrets, to trust no one. But something in her was warming towards Lystar's own overflowing brightness and warmth. Meliana admired the older girl, who seemed to have time for everyone and to always know who needed help, and she respected her and she _liked_ her.

And K'beth… Meliana might be growing to like Lystar, but the feeling she had for K'beth, who'd saved her, was much more like passionate devotion.

* * *

Lystar'd been vaguely aware that the Masterharper had come to see R'lan and Reia – she'd noticed Halenth, an obliging and friendly brown who was often his transport, arriving at the Weyrleader's weyr ledge, but she hadn't realised that he'd brought another Harper with him until she heard the sound of music floating towards her. Beside her, K'beth picked up his step. 'Oh, it should be a good evening, then,' he said, happily.

'For some,' Lystar said, mock-sourly. 'I know what _you're_ like, dancing with every girl in the place except for me.'

In her mind, Caliath said with a flick of amusement, _Rosith reminds him that he should not be dancing with any girl except _her, _but she'll make an exception in your case_.

Lystar flicked a hand into the air in acknowledgement, knowing that Caliath would pass the message along. 'Thanks, Rosith. There, you see?'

K'beth grinned. 'Why are all the women in my life out to get me? Someone of my grace and skill could not possibly dance with you.'

Once that would have hurt, but Lystar was much more stable now, and she knew that he was joking. She grimaced, half-laughing. She'd grown out of the worst of her youthful clumsiness, but K'beth was right in that her dancing still left a lot to be desired.

'Anyway,' K'beth carried on, 'I don't know why _you're _worried. I won't be able to get near you! I'm the one who should be worried.'

Lystar poked him in the ribs and they both laughed as they stepped through into the dining cavern. She flicked a glance around, and almost at once spotted Meliana sitting by herself in a shadowy corner. She met the gaze of Lystar's good eye, but Meliana was looking so fierce that Lystar hesitated to approach her. The next minute she had no choice. K'beth suddenly froze, grabbing her arm so tightly that she looked round, wondering what was wrong. Then he took off across the hall, dragging Lystar with him. 'Jarrin!'

* * *

Meliana's eyes narrowed as she watched the pair dash across the cavern. The Harper's music had broken off mid-note as K'beth shouted, and the slim, dark young man stepped free of the crowd just in time for Lystar to fling both arms around him. Then K'beth joined them, pounding the Harper on the back, all three of them talking at once so that neither Meliana nor – she was sure – they themselves could make out a word of what they were saying. It didn't seem to matter to them. They were clearly very old friends delighted to be seeing one another again.

Meliana felt a twinge of jealousy.

* * *

Later, K'beth, Lystar and Jarrin sat high up on the rim of the Weyr bowl, enjoying the last flickers of evening sunshine.

'I'm staying here for a bit,' Jarrin explained to his friends. 'At least, Master Dannen is asking the Weyrleaders now whether I may. I've been running a couple of errands for him… you know…' Lystar and K'beth nodded. They'd first met Jarrin through one of the slightly shady tasks he undertook for the Masterhaper from time to time. '… and, uh, I've annoyed a couple of important people. Master Dannen thought it might be better for me to come stay somewhere where I won't really come to the notice of any Holders.'

'That's great!' K'beth smiled. 'It's time you took a holiday. You work too hard.'

Jarrin laughed. 'What, as compared to, say, you?'

'Yep.' K'beth folded both hands behind his head and lay back on the rock. 'I don't do anything at all. Well, hardly anything. I mean, flying against thread every once in a while isn't a big deal. Compared to the pair of you, I feel positively lazy.'

'You only just came back from a Search,' Lystar pointed out, mildly. 'And you're such a soft touch, you do practically all the jobs Gilda and the other women want done. And stuff for R'lan, too.'

K'beth laughed. 'All right. Just don't tell Rosith. She thinks I try and give _her_ as much rest as I can.'

_Rosith knows _exactly_ how much work she does compared to the rest of the greens_, Caliath commented tartly, and Lystar creased up laughing. When she opened her eyes, K'beth was laughing too, and Jarrin was half-frowning as he looked at them in confusion, wondering what the joke was.

'Alright, c'mon.' Lystar climbed to her feet. _Cal, come pick us up, please?_ 'It's getting dark, and K'beth, you're flying thread tomorrow. I'll get Gilda to sort out a room for Jarrin, and then we'd better turn in.'


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**Hi everyone! Sorry about the long break between updates – I was on holiday over Christmas. The plus side is that I wrote a couple of chapters while I was away, so the next chapter will appear in a couple of days. Please R&R!

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The sharp anticipation of threadfall filling Caliath's mind woke Lystar in the first grey light of the dawn. Lystar slid out of bed carefully, so as to avoid waking K'beth, and smiled down at her weyrmate for a second, his dark hair tousled and one hand flung out across the light sheet that was a suitable blanket for Ista in summer.

Then K'beth's eyes flickered open and he smiled back up at her. 'Hey.'

'Hey there,' said Lystar, gently.

'Thread,' said K'beth, remembering, and sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. 'Have you had anything to eat?'

'No, I only just woke up.'

'Good.' K'beth dragged on some clothing. 'Let's go and get something, then. I'll just go see if Rosith's ready.' He lifted aside the hide covering that hung in between their room and where the dragons slept, and went through, out of sight.

Lystar knew that Caliath was awake. She was aware, as she dressed and dragged a comb through her short hair, of his restlessness and irritation. He didn't say anything, but she knew what he was thinking – _I am a dragon. I was born to fight thread. Why won't you let me fly?_

Lystar sighed, sending soothing and patient thoughts across to the big blue. She knew that he loved their job with the weyrlings as much as she did, but every time the Weyr began to gear up for threadfall this restless longing possessed her dragon's mind.

It was worse when thread fell over Ista itself. Caliath's frustration and desire to dash outside and fight was so great then that Lystar had to spend an appreciable portion of her time calming him – and that distracted her from her other duties.

Still, she thought to herself, at least this time we haven't got to deal with dragonets with that same instinct trying to get out. The only current weyrlings were old enough to be ferrying firestone for the duration of this fall.

She tied her boots and climbed to her feet, following K'beth through into the dragons' weyr. Caliath was sitting up, neck extended and eyes whirling vividly.

Lystar caressed his eyebrow ridge. _Hey, ssh, ssh, Cal. Calm down. You know we can't fight. Not with my eye_.

K'beth touched her shoulder. 'Let's go and eat. I have to report, and won't you need to marshal the candidates? Or are you doing firestone duties with the weyrlings?'

'No, G'zul is supervising them,' Lystar told him as they stepped out into the brightness of the early morning and began to walk along the ledge that would take them down into the hustle of the Weyr bowl where many dragonriders were already beginning to organise the Weyr for threadfall, carrying sacks of firestone and flamethrowers. At the centre of the bustle stood R'lan and Reia, the Weyrleaders and the old Headwoman, Gilda. Lystar watched the scene with interest. 'And I really don't envy him. The twins'll never learn that threadfall isn't just another chance to make mischief until one of them gets hurt. At least _I_ only have to do what Gilda says and stop any of the candidates from panicking at the sight of blood.'

'Uh-huh,' K'beth was watching the people hurrying around below. 'Let's hurry, looks like we're late. There's V'dar – look, Lystar, will you grab us some food while I go and check in?'

'Sure.' Lystar glanced at the figure of K'beth's wingleader and frowned. V'dar was walking slowly and carefully across the bowl, as if it took an effort. 'Looks like he maybe had a bit too much wine last night. That's not like him.'

'No,' K'beth agreed. 'I hope he's all right…'

Their speculations were cut short as they reached the Weyr bowl and went their separate ways.

* * *

Meliana stood with the other candidates, but a little apart so that she could watch everybody. She was impressed with the way the Weyr swung into action to prepare for the threadfall – everybody knew where they had to be and the Weyr hummed like a beehive as everything was put into motion. In the ordered chaos of the Weyr, she could easily slip away and get herself lost if she had to.

She relaxed a little, and glanced around to see if she could spot anyone that she knew. Along with the other candidates, she knew the little wizened figure of the Headwoman. Some of them had had the misfortune to get on the wrong side of her sharp tongue already, and Meliana devoutly wished that she would never be in that position. She recognised the figures of the Weyrleaders, R'lan mounted and in the process of checking over his wing while Reia, grounded for this threadfall because of Shareth's fierce protection of her eggs, spoke earnestly to Marti, the only other queenrider. It would be a relief to the whole Weyr when the golden egg hardening on the Hatching Ground split, bringing another queen dragon to Ista.

Meliana briefly saw the tall, dark figure of the Harper who'd played the night before and frowned; what was he doing here still? Then she caught sight of the person that she'd never admit to herself she had actually been looking for, and dismissed the Harper from her thoughts.

K'beth and Lystar were standing beside Rosith's elegant green form – and how strange it was, Meliana thought, that she could already distinguish Rosith's relative sleekness and grace among so many dragons, who were all just huge beasts a sevenday ago! As she watched, K'beth gave his weyrmate a kiss and swung himself up onto Rosith's back. Lystar called something up to him, and then she swung away and came over to the candidates at an ungainly half-run.

There was a general feeling of relaxation and smiles among the nervous candidates. Considering that Lystar was less than five years older than the oldest among them, it was remarkable how her presence seemed to calm and reassure them.

'Hey there!' Lystar called, just loudly enough to be heard above the racket of dragons and riders. 'Some of you may know this already, but we're gonna be helping Gilda and the other women with the healing side of things today, so the less we have to do, the better for everyone.'

Meliana and the other candidates were distracted at this point as the first wing of dragons, led by R'lan and Aneth, lifted out of the Weyr bowl in formation, circled up to a height of about fifty feet and then vanished into nowhere. The rest followed in tight formation, and the bowl was suddenly quiet.

Meliana saw that the Lower Cavern women, notwithstanding the buckets of numbweed salve and rolls of bandages laid out in serried rows beside them, were mostly gathering in groups to talk quietly. The sight gave her some reassurance – until she noticed that some among them were watching the sky, faces white and tense. In the far corner of the courtyard, she could here the rise and fall of G'zul's voice as he spoke to the weyrlings and their young dragons.

'We're also going to be helping out and running general errands,' Lystar continued, and her voice was so loud in the sudden calm that Meliana wasn't the only one who jumped. 'Basically, if Gilda, Reia, one of the women, G'zul or myself asks you to do something, then I need you to do it straight away, please, without stopping to ask why.'

Lystar paused, and then said, 'Now, I won't conceal from you that threadfall is an extremely dangerous and bloody business. I guess you know that.' There were a few nods among the candidates. 'But only a few of you have experienced it from the Weyr's point of view before. At Ista we pride ourselves that we are a very efficient thread fighting force, and we very rarely have casualties during fall. But we do always sustain injuries, and it's vital to prepare for the worst. In any case, I should warn you that there are in all probability going to be a number of extremely nasty sights over the next few hours. Please try and keep your heads. If you panic and someone has to be spared to look after you, it means that that person is _not_ engaged in saving a dragonrider's life. Please try and remember that. If you do feel sick, dizzy or panicky, the best thing to do is get yourself out of the way and then sit quietly. If you still feel bad after the fall's over, then tell me about it then. Everyone with me so far?'

She waited, eyes travelling over them until everyone, even Meliana, gave her a little nod of acknowledgement, and then smiled at them. 'Thank you. Now that's – oh yes, one last thing. If anyone finds a situation where you need a dragon's help – to lift or move an injured dragon, for instance – then I'm really the only dragonrider here at the moment who can help you, since G'zul and Oreth are busy working out where extra firestone is needed, so you should speak to me, or to Caliath if you can't find me anywhere.'

A couple of the candidates took a step backwards, still new enough to the Weyr to be nervous about speaking directly to the dragon whose huge bulk was sunbathing against the warm rock of the Weyr's steep walls. Meliana glanced at them with disdain. It was obvious to her that dragons possessed many similar character traits to their riders, as if each had helped to form the other's mind. Look at Rosith, who was as sweet and brave and protective as anything! It stood to reason that Lystar's dragon would be warm-hearted and friendly, and probably incapable of turning away anyone in need of help.

* * *

Once she'd gone through the routine with the candidates, there was nothing for Lystar to do but wait, along with the rest of the Weyr, for the first casualty. This was always a bad time, with the current of awful anticipation running through the Weyr, evryone tensed up, nerves jangling.

Lystar strolled up to her dragon and wrapped both arms around his neck, laying her cheek against his scarred hide. She took comfort from his solid presence, if not from his buzzing, jittery mind.

_I'm scared, Cal_, she said. _I hate threadfall_.

_It's bad_, said Caliath, as if that was an answer. _It's bad. It's the enemy. We must fight it. We will fight it. Don't be scared_.

_Silly_, she said, lovingly._ That's not it. I'm scared because I'm afraid I will get something wrong, be clumsy at the wrong moment, and someone will die. Someone from the Weyr – someone I care about. One of my friends_. She swallowed hard, and added in a tiny voice. _K'beth_.

Caliath felt her fear, but he couldn't understand it. Not for the first time, Lystar wished that she could share her dragon's total lack of anticipation or fear of the future. _All will be well_, he said, comfortingly. _Don't be afraid. I am here_.

Then she felt the sudden sharp shift of his attention, and knew that a part of his conciousness had been following the progress of the threadfall all along. _Faldreth asks for more firestone_, he reported, _and Galath's rider is scored. Galath brings him back_.

Lystar straightened up, her heart leaping into her mouth. 'Gilda!'

* * *

_Fall _must _be nearly over_, Lystar thought wearily, a few hours later as she took a brief rest, standing up straight and easing her shoulders out. Although her physical effort had been small, she felt ready to drop with weariness. She had often thought that the mental and emotional strain exerted on those back at the Weyr was underestimated compared to the physical battering the riders took.

She staggered slightly, and a strong hand caught her under the elbow as Caliath answered. _There is less than an hour remaining, but the fall is moving into heavily farmed lands so the strain on dragons and riders is growing_.

Lystar turned to see who had steadied her, blinking exhaustedly. Her rescuer held out a cup of _klah_, which she took gratefully. 'Jarrin, you're a lifesaver.'

'So are you,' said the Harper. 'I'm glad I'm making myself useful.'

Lystar grinned at him and glanced around the Weyr bowl. There seemed to be a relative lull in casualties, and in it she could see that everyone who wasn't actively engaged in helping an injured dragon or rider was nursing a mug. The full impact of Jarrin's words sunk in, and she laughed. 'You made _klah_ for everybody? Jarrin, that is so… that is so _you_.'

Jarrin half-frowned. 'You say that like it's a bad thing,' he said.

'No, it's not, not at all. It's just… not what anybody else would think of.' She saw that Jarrin was still looking a trifle hurt, and touched his shoulder gently. 'Hey. I think it's a great idea.'

Jarrin smiled back at her. 'Well, I've never known much about healing. But if I say it myself, I do make a great cup of _klah_. Lystar –'

Lystar was distracted as Caliath said, _Nemath is badly scored and coming in_.

'Later, Jarrin,' she said, hurriedly, and thrust her barely tasted mug back into his hands. She dashed over to the edge of the bowl to refill a bucket of water at the pool there and then hurried towards the spot where a brown dragon, screeching in agony, had appeared out of the air and was falling into the bowl, labouring with his one working wing not to crash into the hard rock floor of the bowl, scooping up a bucket of numbweed as she went.

Nemath's injuries were serious, she saw at a glance. Thread had lacerated one wing and most of his belly. The brown dragon had rolled over in the air to protect his rider as thread hit him, and the thread had cut deeply into the softer part of his hide. As Lystar reached them, Nemath's rider – J'gan, her brain supplied – disentangled himself from his harness. She saw at a glance that he had tears streaming down his face, half-crazy with the pain he was sharing with his dragon. Lystar knelt down and began to slosh numbweed liberally against the dragon's scores. There was no time for finesse here. She just had to get numbweed and bandages on, stop any further damage until an expert could look at Nemath later.

J'gan screamed, and lurched against her, reaching out to try and get to his dragon. Lystar knocked his hand aside. 'Don't! You'll hurt him more!' But J'gan was so far gone that he didn't comprehend what she was saying, and while she was using both hands to hold him off she _wasn't_ bandaging Nemath's scores. Lystar swallowed, a nervous jittering rising up in her stomach. She didn't have enough hands!

But someone had seen her difficulty. She was pushed gently out of the way, and capable, dextrous hands snatched the roll of bandage out of her hands and turned back to Nemath. Lystar sighed with relief, and turned to calming J'gan – no easy task, for the brownrider wasn't physically hurt, and he was stronger than her and unwilling to listen to reason.

As his dragon's hurts faded under the influence of numbweed, he was gradually able to begin thinking clearly again, and then Lystar could explain the situation to him and let him go over to his dragon and carefully touch the brown head and see the huge eyes roll towards him, only semi-conscious owing to the sheer amount of numbweed that'd been applied.

Lystar looked over to see who had appeared just in the nick of time. It was a girl, small and dark, with her hair falling down her back in a long plait, and the front of her tunic smeared with blood.

As Lystar cudgelled her brain into working, Meliana looked up, met her eyes, and gave her a tiny smile – the nearest Lystar had ever seen in her to an expression of emotion. Before Lystar could say anything, the dark girl had darted off towards the next casualty.

* * *

After threadfall, there was a general feeling of relaxation in the Weyr, of tension suddenly snapped. As Lystar strolled down to the main cavern, accompanied by K'beth and Jarrin, she could hear the noisy and relieved voices drifting out. There'd be plenty of wine flowing, she knew, and people were sure to want Jarrin to play again.

Sure enough, as they walked in there was first a drop in the noise level as people looked around to see who was there, and then a sudden rise as hands tugged Jarrin away and scraped benches and tables over the floor to clear a space.

'Come on,' K'beth muttered in her ear. 'I never did get to dance with you.'

Lystar smiled at him. 'In a minute,' she said. 'You go on. There's just one thing that I want to do first.'

As the crowd picked up the torches and moved them up towards the dais where Jarrin was beginning to strum his first melody, Lystar glanced around the shadows until she saw what she was looking for – a small figure, hidden away in a corner.

When Lystar crossed over to her, Meliana regarded her unemotionally, but Lystar's easy-going temperament wasn't fazed. 'Hey,' she said. 'I just wanted to thank you – you know, for earlier on. Your timing was perfect.'

Meliana scrutinized her. 'Don't mention it,' she said clearly, after a while.

Lystar smiled. 'Thanks. And, Meliana – look, that's such a mouthful. Do you ever use a short version? Could I call you Melly?'

For a moment, Meliana just stared at her, as if she could discern Lystar's motives in her eyes. Then, curtly, she nodded. Lystar thought that she could see again in the darkness that tiny smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: Here you go – a nice long chapter! A trifle angsty in places, but… overall, I didn't get too confused so I'm quite happy! Enjoy it and please review!

* * *

**

'Lystar?'

Lystar turned her head to smile up at the stocky blond boy behind her. 'Hey, Caden, what's up?'

'Probably nothing. It's just I don't feel too good, and I don't really know who I should speak to…'

Lystar rose to her feet immediately, concerned. 'You do look a bit peaky. What else – headache? Stomach pains?'

'Stomach. And I'm a bit dizzy. And I was sick…'

'Sounds like maybe you ate something bad. Do the others feel all right, do you know?'

Caden shrugged, and Lystar smiled at him sympathetically. 'Don't worry, I'll ask around. C'mon – we don't have a craft-trained Healer at the moment, but Gilda knows all the tricks. We'll see if she can give you something and then you can lie down this afternoon.' _Back in a minute, Cal_, she added, and heard her dragon sleepily grunt his acknowledgement.

Remembering that he'd said he was dizzy, Lystar steadied Caden with a hand under his elbow as she escorted him out of the room. Somewhere in the background a bell clanged for the midday meal, and the bluerider noticed it vaguely.

Gilda was already down in the infirmary. Lystar expected to find her dealing firmly but competently with those riders still too badly injured to leave their beds after the threadfall, but actually when she arrived with Caden Gilda was huddled in the corner by the corridor that led to individual rooms for the seriously injured or sick and those in long term care, engaged in a deep discussion with her second-in-command.

'Good morning, Gilda, Hanna,' Lystar said politely as she came in. She could see that neither of them would notice her if she didn't draw attention to herself and her companion.

Both women swung round to face her as if they were afraid she'd overheard them talking. 'Lystar,' snapped Gilda. She was older than anyone else at the Weyr, lines running across her leathery brown face like seams. She was also Lystar's mother's mother, and had looked after the bluerider from a baby – not that you'd know it from the way she talks, Lystar reflected wryly. 'What do you want?'

'Caden here feels ill,' Lystar said, easily. 'He's a stomach ache and sickness. I wondered if you had anything for him?' She was looking around even as she spoke. The infirmary wing looked much the same as normal to her, but she could tell that Gilda, and even the usually placid and even-tempered Hanna, were wound up tightly with nervous energy.

She was even more certain of it when her words caused Gilda and Hanna to exchange a worried glance.

'I'll see to it,' said Hanna, climbing to her feet. 'Come with me, Caden, and we'll give you a dose of fellis to settle your stomach and help you sleep. We'll find you a bed down here for the moment.' Again that significant look passed between her and the Headwoman.

Lystar waited for Hanna to take Caden – looking hugely relieved that he hadn't been given into Gilda's somewhat intimidating care – out of earshot, and then asked quietly, 'All right, so what's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Gilda snapped.

'Then why are you so worried?'

'I'm…' Gilda hesitated. Lystar was so perceptive when it came to emotion, it was difficult to lie to her outright. But it would be dangerous to tell her all the truth. 'I _am_ worried. We've got a number of threadscored riders who aren't healing as well as they should.'

Lystar grimaced. 'That's bad. Anything that I can do to help? How's V'dar doing?'

'Not too good. He and Ilmeth took a direct hit. It's so difficult to see…'

'Maybe I should go visit him.'

'No!' Gilda's eyes widened with alarm. 'I mean… he's asleep right now. And he probably wouldn't know that you were there anyway.'

Lystar narrowed her eyes, cocking her head on one side. She'd hadn't meant anything by it, but mentioning V'dar had brought Gilda's worry to the surface.

Lystar didn't stop to consider whether it was her business to interfere. As far as she was concerned, if she could help someone with a burden and make them feel better, then it was always her business. 'Gilda –' she began.

Behind her, Lystar's keen ears heard the rustling as someone drew aside the hide curtain that covered the infirmary doorway. She turned to bring the newcomer into the field of vision of her good eye.

Melly had stopped uncertainly in the archway, holding the curtain aside with one hand. 'Lystar, G'zul was looking for you,' she said. 'Someone said they'd seen you come down this way…'

That was when Hanna brought Caden back into the main room. He was looking sleepy thanks to the fellis juice he'd drunk and didn't say anything as she piloted him gently onto a bed in one corner of the room. His knees were shaking and his face looked white. Melly and Lystar both turned their heads to watch him. They both saw Hanna turn to Gilda, her mouth set in a thin hard line, and give a brief nod. And Melly, her head swivelling back towards the corner of the room where Caden had been put saw that several beds there were occupied. As she watched, one occupant climbed out of bed, skin drawn tight against his skull and emaciated frame shaking as he staggered across the room to where a thick hide curtain screened off the infirmary's lavatory. Hanna took a couple of steps forwards and took his arm, supporting him. And Melly stepped back sharply, gave a little intake of breath somewhere in between a gasp and a whimper, dropped the curtain she was holding and fled away down the corridor.

'Melly! What's wrong?' Lystar leapt forwards, but she was too late. She could hear Melly's footsteps echoing away down the corridor. She hesitated, torn between her natural instinct to follow Melly and her desire to get more information out of Gilda.

Gilda was looking after Melly too, her eyes slitted like a lizard. 'She knows,' the old woman breathed. 'That girl knows, somehow…'

'Knows what?' asked Lystar. '_What_, Gilda?'

Gilda looked at her, mouth pursed. Lystar expected her to refuse to answer again, but instead the Headwoman sighed. 'You'd better come and see V'dar,' she said.

* * *

K'beth unwrapped the last bandage and inspected the light scoring on Rosith's leg critically. _That's healing fine, love_, he told the green dragon, who was craning her snaky neck around to try and get a better look at her own hind legs. _I'll leave it open to the air now, I think. How does it feel?_

_Better_. Rosith flexed the limb gently, then turned and pressed her nose affectionately against K'beth. _I will be fine now_.

_Good, because I have to go and find M'rind and ask how he's gonna be managing things until V'dar gets well_. K'beth scratched the green dragon's eyebrow ridge, lovingly, and then turned to walk out of the weyr into the blinding heat outside. He turned back briefly at the entrance. _You can bathe if you like, sweetheart, but try to keep that leg clean, all right?_

Rosith rumbled her assent and K'beth pushed out through the heavy curtain, standing blinking while his eyes adjusted to the sunlight. He turned and strolled casually along the ledge that ran in front of his weyr and all the others on his level. His wing-second had the end weyr, beside the steep and winding staircase that ran down to the weyr bowl.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and made damp patches on his tunic. He knew better than to strip off his top and expose his skin to the fierce sun, but K'beth promised himself that he'd find the time to go swimming with Rosith later on, even if only for a while. Even for a tropical Istan summer, the weather was hot and sultry.

K'beth negotiated the narrow ledge with ease, picking his feet over the rough places on the ledge without conscious thought. He'd come from mountains much steeper and higher than the sides of this volcanic cone, but some of his fellow candidates had been terrified when they'd first arrived and realised that travel around the Weyr was either on dragonback or by means of these precipitous ledges, handcarved out of the rock by hard labour back when the Weyr was first established. Even when they'd been walking along them for years, some people preferred to nap down in the hall rather than face the trek back to their weyr in the dark, especially if they'd had too much to drink, or for some reason their dragon was unable or unwilling to help them.

There were a couple of people standing chatting on the stairs at M'rind's end of the ledge, drawn there by the little cascade of water that flowed down the rock face, collecting in a little pool at each level before flowing on down to the bigger pool at the edge of the Weyr bowl and then to the lake. The cascade was clearly a manmade thing, although they wouldn't have had the technology to create it now, and the tanks where it collected and stored rainwater up on the rim of the Weyr to power itself were one of Ista's minor curiosities. K'beth had always been unable to decide whether the cascade was a good idea or not. Where he'd grown up it would have been disasterous – it regularly overflowed during storms, making the steps slippery and dangerous, and K'beth shuddered to imagine the fatilities that could result if it froze in the cold of a northern winter. But tropical Ista had extremely mild winters, and the cascade was one of the best features in the Weyr in the summer. K'beth stopped briefly to exchange a word or two with the riders standing beside it while he splashed water over his head and shoulders. The little streams where it gushed down from the higher levels were dry, he noticed. The only water was gathered in the bottom of the pool where the shadow of the Weyr's high stony walls kept it out of the burning sun. If the weather carried on like this then they would soon have to head down to the bowl or even as far as the lake to find fresh water.

Feeling momentarily cooler, K'beth walked into his wingsecond's weyr, nodding respectfully to the brown dragon curled up in the entry chamber.

* * *

K'beth had only planned to ask how M'rind would be shifting his wing's formation for the time being, but since the wing-second was engaged in trying to decide exactly that, the greenrider's opinion was sought, and K'beth was soon engrossed in trying to sort out the tangled problem of how to correct the unbalancing caused by M'rind's temporary movement to the front of the formation. Once that was done, the brownrider introduced the interesting problem of how precisely to encourage the rather wild and hot-tempered young bronzerider whom their wing had the dubious honour of possessing to submit to M'rind's authority calmly. In fact K'beth was mildly surprised that M'rind, an extremely capable man – hence his rise to wing-second in spite of the claims and protestations of the same bronzerider – had brought up this trouble at all, until he realised that M'rind had decided that the only person who could possibly talk young K'tar into behaving himself was Lystar.

When he figured this out K'beth grinned and promised to ask her, although he didn't take it on himself to make any guarantee on his weyrmate's behalf. 'She's been so busy with trying to settle the new candidates in and get them used to the weyr way of life,' he said apologetically. 'But I know she'll make a push to help you if she can.'

As a result, it was some time later that K'beth stepped back out into the blazing sunshine. In fact, the promptings of his stomach and the emptiness of the Weyr bowl told him that it was probably round about midday, and the Weyr must be mostly in the great cavern, eating. K'beth strolled down the steps in a leisurely fashion. _I'm going to get something to eat, sweetheart. I'll see you later_.

_All right,_ Rosith said. _Will you see Lystar?_

_I expect so. Why?_

_Caliath is worried because she is worried. I wish you would calm her down and then Caliath will stop bothering _me.

_Yes, I'll do that_, K'beth reassured her, grinning over the utter selfishness of dragons.

He had almost reached ground level when a small dark figure dashed out from the tunnel entrance that led to the Lower Caverns clutching an unwieldy bundle and fled across the Weyr bowl to the tunnel entrance on the far side. 'Melly! What –?'

The little dark girl had disappeared before he even finished his question. Instinctively, K'beth set off after her. _Rosith! Can you sense where Melly – no, don't worry about it_. K'beth suddenly felt that he had a very good idea where she might be going.

* * *

Without even thinking about it, Melly took a circuitous route through the empty tunnels of the Weyr before she stopped in a dark back corridor to roll the food she'd snatched more tightly into her blanket and sling it over her shoulder. She wasn't thinking much, concentrating on the blinding terror that seemed to fill her head and made her legs want to lose all their strength and collapse in a quivering heap, but she still instinctively remembered the patterns of survival. If anyone had been following her, she wasn't going to make it easy for them. She moved swiftly, running towards the deep, broad tunnel that would lead to the outside world. She felt her eyes prickle and dashed her free hand across them impatiently. Now was not the time for sentimentality.

It was pitch dark in the unused passages she walked through, so when she turned a final corner and saw the bright, blazing opening of the tunnel and she was dazzled. Perhaps that was why she didn't see the figure waiting in the shadows as she dashed towards her freedom.

'Where are you going, Melly?' asked a familiar voice.

Melly couldn't help it; she checked her step. If it had been anyone else she would have ducked her head and pushed past them into the brightness outside, but it was K'beth. She wasn't quite sure why she stopped, but she knew that she had to.

'Away.'

K'beth took in her appearance, dusty and in disarray from her passage through the Weyr's old corridors, and the wide-eyed, tear-stained, panic on her face, and asked more gently, 'Why?'

'They'll come after me…' Despite herself, Melly trembled, and she folded her lips tightly to prevent a whimper escaping. 'They'll hate me…'

'Like they did before?'

'Yes!' Melly's heart gave a little leap. Was it possible that K'beth understood? That he might let her go? Help her?

'Melly.' K'beth stepped closer to her and put a warm hand on her arm. Looking up into the tall greenrider's face, Melly's breath caught inexplicably in her throat and she was insensibly reassured. 'Come out into the sun, and sit down. Don't you think it's time you told me exactly how you came to be where you were when Rosith and I found you?'

* * *

Lystar walked across the Weyr very steadily and bolt upright. _Cal, I need you. Are you up in the weyr? I'm coming up_.

_No, but I will be_. Lystar sensed through their link Caliath climbing to his feet and his great wings unfurling as he dropped off the rim of the Weyr, where he'd been sunbathing and down towards their weyr. She saw him swoop neatly through the entrance just ahead of her and broke into a run across the last twenty yards to dive through the entrance and wrap her arms around her dragon's neck. The blue crooned anxiously and wrapped his tail around her, his eyes whirling a disturbed yellow. _What's wrong, little one? Who has upset you? I will eat them!_

'Er… Lystar?' asked a light voice.

Lystar turned and smiled shakily as she recognised the voice. Jarrin was standing in the archway that led through to the main room of the weyr, holding the heavy hide curtain in his hand. He stepped forwards as he saw her face, instinctively reaching out to her. 'What's happened, Lystar?'

'Gilda says there's plague in the Weyr,' Lystar said, in a small, tight voice.

Jarrin drew in a sharp breath. 'Shards! Are you sure? I mean, Ista's tropical, whenever I come here in summer someone's got a fever of some sort…' He trailed off, unconvinced, as Lystar shook her head.

'Gilda's sure, and I trust her. She says it's something no one's seen before. She's worried it might be… we know some parts of Keroon have had a bad sickness, but when R'lan sent a messenger to ask about the symptons, Keroon Hold was flying a plague flag. They warned him not to land. It was S'mar, he's reliable, and he said he counted only four or five people moving around the Hold. V'dar was there a bit more than a sevenday ago, and he's ill one of the worst.'

'What are we going to do?'

Lystar shrugged her shoulders, swallowing around the lump in her throat. 'I…' She felt her voice breaking and began again. 'I don't know. You'll go back to the Harperhall, I suppose. You're valuable to the Masterharper, he wouldn't want you hanging around here to maybe get sick.'

'He wouldn't want me taking plague back to Fort with me, either,' Jarrin pointed out, dryly.

'You probably wouldn't. Gilda says it's not that contagious. If it was we'd have more people sick by now.'

'Yeah, but if V'dar brought it from Keroon then I could take it back with me just as easily.'

'Jarrin, you ought to go!' Lystar told him, her voice shaking. 'That way you'll probably be safe.'

'Flame that, Lystar!' Jarrin was beginning to sound angry. 'What do you think I am? I'm not going to go tamely away while you and K'beth and everyone else stay here running the risk of infection!'

Lystar swallowed. 'Then you're braver than I am. If I had a way out then I'd go.'

'You have!' Jarrin said. 'You've got a dragon! If you want to go, then go! Caliath will take you.'

Lystar was startled. It was an idea that hadn't occurred to her until Jarrin brought it up. _What do you think, Cal?_

_If you want to go, I will take you. I will protect you!_

_I love you, Cal. Thank you. But no. I – _'I couldn't do that,' she said, out loud.

'See?' Jarrin smiled, weakly. 'You're not so different from me, after all.'

'I am,' Lystar wrapped an arm around Caliath's neck again. 'I… Jarrin, I'm scared.'

Jarrin watched her for a second, nervous about going closer to a dragon clearly as angry and jittery as Caliath, then plunged forwards the couple of steps to hug Lystar, trying to reassure her. 'I know,' he said. 'So am I.'

* * *

'Everyone died,' said Melly. She shuddered, and K'beth wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders, feeling desperately guilty for dragging the dark girl back to live through these memories again. His action seemed to steady her, and she lifted her head. 'They just… shrivelled up. Everyone except me. I was sick too, but I got better. I don't know why. I woke up in a house full of corpses.'

She broke off, dragging in a sobbing breath. 'Everyone I ever knew. All my family. Everyone.'

K'beth made a sympathetic noise, wishing he could offer better comfort, and Melly carried on. 'I was still pretty weak, but I was alive. I ate some supplies, and I went down to the lake for water. I didn't want to stay in that house. After a bit, when I began to feel better, I trekked over to the next Hold. I guess I was lucky there was no threadfall. I didn't think of that. I just wanted some proper food and a bed and someone to talk to. Anyway, I got there, and there were guards out. They stopped me and asked who I was and where I came from. I looked so awful, I think they thought I was sick. When I told them where I came from, they were sure I was. They knew everyone was dead. They drove me away – they said they couldn't risk spreading the plague.'

She looked up at K'beth, but he knew that she wasn't really seeing him at all. 'I wasn't sick,' she said, earnestly. 'I wouldn't have hurt them. But I really needed help, so I went back after dark. I slipped past the guards and knocked on the door of the Hold. A drudge answered it, and she was quite kind to me. She would have let me in, I think, but this man came up behind her. He obviously knew about me, because he dragged her away and shouted and slammed the door in my face. The guards heard the fuss, and they came after me again but I got away in the darkness. I went back to the lake and slept there. I thought I'd go up the road the other way and try the first Hold in that direction. But the next day they came hunting for me. I think they thought I would come back and infect them all. I hid up a tree, but they came back the next day, and the next. That's when you turned up.' She smiled up at K'beth gratefully. 'It was…' Her voice went hoarse, and she swallowed. 'It was the best moment of my life when you faced down that Holder. I wasn't scared at all any more.'

'Doesn't sound like you've had a lot of best moments to choose from,' K'beth said gently. 'Not recently.'

'No.' Melly's voice was shaky.

'Melly, why are you running away from the Weyr? Don't you like it here?'

'Oh, no, it's not that. But the plague's here, K'beth!' The girl's voice rose in terror. 'I was down in the infirmary, and I saw… it's unmistakable, the way it eats people up. They dry up and shrivel and then they die. And if people die here in the Weyr then they'll say I must have brought it with me and they'll hate me and they'll hunt me too, and they've got dragons so I've got to get started running before they realise!'

K'beth's grip on her shoulders was suddenly vice-like. 'You're _sure_ the plague's here?'

'Yes!' Melly wriggled. 'So let me go! I have to get away!'

'What?' K'beth stared at her, finally taking in her reason for leaving. He relaxed his arm. 'Well – Melly, if you really want to go, then I won't stop you. But you don't have to. You weren't sick when you came here. Other people have been to – V'dar!' He broke off as a thought struck him. 'He was at Keroon. He's supposed to be recovering from threadscore, but what if this is what's really wrong with him?'

'You really think that no one will blame me?' asked Melly, in a small voice.

Distracted from his thoughts, K'beth looked back at her. 'Some will,' he said, honestly. 'But not most of them. Not if we take your story to the Weyrleaders.' Melly made a quiet whimpering sound, and K'beth added hastily, 'You don't have to tell them everything you've told me! Just so that they know you've come from an area affected by plague, but you couldn't have carried it here.'

'I… could help, couldn't I?' Melly asked, surprising K'beth with her firmer tone. 'I mean, I don't know a cure, but I've seen the plague first hand – and I've had it! I can't get sick again! So I could help out in the infirmary, maybe, instead of someone who might get ill.'

K'beth looked at her, beginning to smile. 'Yes. Yes, you could do that. I think that's a great idea.'


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey

* * *

**

Even the weather seemed to be threatening as they crossed the Weyr bowl the next morning in answer to a summons. The heavy clouds were hanging low over the Weyr, coloured like a bruise and loaded with thunder. The light had a sickly golden sheen, and the heat was like a fist hammering down on anyone foolish enough to be outside. Even many of the dragons had given up lazing and retreated to the shade of their weyrs.

'How many are sick, Gilda?' asked R'lan, grimly.

'Twelve.'

'That's not as many as I feared,' remarked Reia. Of all the little party assembled in the Weyrleaders' weyr, she seemed the coolest. R'lan barely ceased his restless pacing to snap out remarks or questions, while Marti, the junior Weyrwoman, sat at the edge of her seat, her eyes flicking from face to face. Standing deferentially against the wall, Lystar, K'beth and Jarrin shifted anxiously and exchanged glances, not sure why they were present. Melly stood beside them, her hands clenched into fists so hard that her nails dug into her skin.

'No, it's not,' Gilda allowed. 'I don't know how this thing spreads, but it's not as fast as it could be. There may be no danger – or no danger to most people. But every time I even think about beginning to relax, another case or two comes in.' The Headwoman's wrinkled face set into stubborn lines. 'I don't know how far this plague will spread, and that's the truth.'

'But at present it's not doing so?' R'lan demanded.

'At present,' the old headwoman said, grudgingly.

The Weyrleaders exchanged a glance. 'Then we think – at _present_, Gilda – that it would be better for the Weyr not to know about this,' Reia said. 'We've discussed it. If we knew more about it then we could explain to the Weyr, but as it is we would probably only cause mass panic. If the situation changes, then we'll have to reconsider.'

'And that's why you're here,' R'lan rounded on the four people standing by the wall. 'You all know about this sickness, but the knowledge has to stop with you. Understand?'

Lystar felt Jarrin stiffen at the Weyrleader's tone and she touched him on the arm, willing the Harper to be silent. She knew perfectly well that R'lan hated secrecy and deception. It was his annoyance that prompted his rough tone.

On her other side, K'beth winced. 'Er… Weyrleader?'

Before R'lan could answer, Marti said, 'Is it Rosith, K'beth?' The junior queenrider had Impressed in the same Hatching as Lystar, and she knew the riders of their generation better than the Weyrleaders. She knew that K'beth's green had a reputation as the worst gossip in the Weyr – probably well-deserved, Lystar reflected wryly, remembering a dramatic episode in her past which Rosith had spread to every dragon in the Weyr.

K'beth nodded. 'She'll try and keep quiet if I ask her to, but she loves having exciting news to tell people.'

Marti looked at Reia, but the Weyrwoman smiled back at her. 'Why don't you do it? Time you and Amerenth started asserting your authority.'

Marti looked startled, and then smiled back. For a second her eyes glazed over as she consulted with her dragon, then she blinked and looked back at K'beth. 'Amerenth will bespeak Rosith and stop her spreading the story.'

'Thanks, goldrider,' K'beth said, gratefully. 'And thanks to Amerenth also.'

'Is there anyone else who knows about this plague?' Reia asked, recalling them to the important matter in hand. 'Gilda?'

'Hanna knows,' the Headwoman admitted, pursing her lips. 'She's been helping me down in the infirmary. But all the temporary help I recruit after threadfall had gone before we realised that the sicknesses were unusual. While we're without a proper Healer, there's no one else down there on a regular basis.'

'I know I can rely on Hanna's good sense,' Reia said.

Gilda snorted. 'I don't know about that, but I've got my eye on her.'

Reia nodded. She had long ago given up arguing with her mother's deep-rooted conviction that no one except herself was reliable, hard-working or intelligent. On at least one painful occasion, Gilda had been right. 'Fine. And anyone else that _you_ know of, Lystar?'

The bluerider thought carefully, cocking her head on one side. At last she shook her head. 'No. Except – someone should ask G'zul. If Rosith is the biggest spreader of gossip in the Weyr, Oreth is the biggest receiver. If G'zul doesn't know, no one will.'

'Hmm. I'll get Shareth to bespeak Oreth. I could ask him to let her know if any rumour does start, too.' Reia sounded thoughtful. 'Yes, I'll do that. And –'

They never heard what the Weyrwoman would have added. A huge thunderclap boomed out and rolled around them, the air crackling with sound, and they all jumped.

Lystar recovered first. 'The candidates! I bet most of them have never experienced a tropical storm before! I have to go.'

She dived across the weyr and out through the back entrance that led to a staircase running down to the Lower Caverns.

'Lystar, why –' R'lan asked, but she was gone, and he finished lamely '– do you have to go and see to the candidates?'

Gilda snorted. 'She has to pull them out from under their beds. I have to go and check we don't get water in the stor –' Another heavy rumble drowned the end of the Headwoman's speech and she rolled her eyes and followed Lystar out.

'Gilda, I'll come and help,' said Melly. 'I wanted to talk to you…' Her speech faded away as she followed the Headwoman down the narrow staircase.

'Right, come on, Jarrin,' said K'beth. 'Rosith and I will give you a lift out. Let's go get a drink and sit out the storm.' The greenrider led the way out past Aneth and Shareth's gleaming metallic bulks to the open ledge that fronted the weyr, where Rosith was waiting, huddling up against sheets of rain.

_Hurry up_, she begged, miserably. _I want to go!_

_I'm coming, love_, said K'beth, soothingly.

Another blast of thunder split the air after the two men had departed, and the three senior riders regarded each other in the steady light of the glows.

'Did we do the right thing?' asked R'lan, eventually, tiredly.

'We did the only thing,' Reia said, firmly. 'We don't know how things will turn out, but… we did the only thing we could.'

* * *

By the time the storm blew itself out, it was nearly dark, and there was no time for anything but the stroll down to dinner. Lystar yawned her way through the meal – reassuring and comforting the candidates had proved to be an exhausting and time consuming task – and was only too happy to go straight back to their weyr afterwards and get some sleep. She didn't have a chance to think about what she'd learned or what they had discussed with the Weyrleaders, until she woke in the night with her bladder full.

Lystar cursed sleepily and slid out of bed, but walking across the cold stone of the weyr floor in her bare feet woke her fully. In the darkness of the outer room, Caliath stirred. _Are you all right?_ her dragon asked.

_I have a mild case of the runs, but yes. Cal, you won't tell anyone what I told you Gilda said about plague, will you?_ she asked.

_Not if you don't want me to_, the large blue answered promptly.

_Thanks. I love you_.

Even with both Caliath and K'beth there with her, in the cool darkness of the weyr Lystar's breath came short when she thought about the plague.

* * *

Strangely enough, Melly's did not. As she lay on her narrow bed in the candidate barracks, listening to the soft breathing of the other girls around her, her eyes open and staring at the ceiling, Melly wasn't afraid. For herself, there was no risk. For others… Melly had made no friends among the candidates or the younger riders. It would be sad if they died – but no deep, personal grief.

What if it's not them? she wondered. What if it's Lystar? What if it's… K'beth? She shivered involuntarily. K'beth had saved her twice now, and she wanted desperately to impress him – to show him both that she was grateful and that she wasn't some pathetic girl, always in trouble. If K'beth died… Melly hated to imagine it. That _would_ touch her heart.

But Melly did not have a disposition that fretted over things still to come. When the moment arrived, when danger threatened, perhaps she would panic, but for now she could think things over carefully, and she could make her plans.

* * *

The morning after the storm was cooler, but the sky, a bleached blue-white, promised that the sun would be burning fiercely again by afternoon. That was always the way it was in Ista, thought Lystar, as Caliath gave her a ride down to the Weyr bowl before launching lazily into the air again to soar over and join Rosith in the lake. Blazing hot summer weather would be interrupted by a ferocious storm, and then the sun would come back as bright as if it had never happened and begin to dry out the land again.

At least one good thing was that the cascade was running again, thought Lystar. She strolled over to the pool it fed and scooped water into her mouth, revelling in the freshness of the taste compared to the stagnant puddle that had been there only the morning before. Then she straightened herself, shaking out her hair, and went to drill the candidates in the procedures for a Hatching.

* * *

Jarrin had made his way up to the watch rider's platform perched on the rim of the Weyr. The sentry was flying a sweep of the surrounding country on dragonback, so the tall Harper had it to himself. He sat down, resting his gitar on his knees and strummed a few restless chords, but put the instrument aside with a scowl. Although he was a competent player, it wasn't his primary talent. He didn't feel like wrestling with songs or dance music today. Instead, he dragged out of his pocket a stick of charcoal and a piece of thin, scraped hide and began to scrawl aimlessly.

Jarrin's problem was that he had too much time on his hands. Unlike Lystar, busy with the nearly-graduated weyrlings and the new candidates, or K'beth, absorbed in a greenrider's duties, he had no real place at Ista – nothing to do, no place to go, no work to occupy him – and his brain was working overtime. Now he settled down to think – yet again – of the potential implications of a breakout of sickness in the Weyr.

Jarrin had never seen plague break out on the scale that Melly had described as occurring at Keroon, but he had an active imagination that was able to grasp something of the sheer scale of death and panic involved. The Harper journeyman's association with Ista – well, he thought wryly, with Lystar and K'beth – was longstanding enough for him to know that the Weyr was currently – well, not exactly understrength, but certainly far from wingheavy. Something in Shareth's body knew it too – the large clutch she was currently hovering over protectively, of thirty-seven eggs including a little queen, was eloquent testament to the fact that the Weyr was not pushed for space.

To Jarrin, Ista's relatively small complement of riders was one of the things that made the Weyr seem friendly and let everyone know most other people. But in the case of a plague, it could turn into a horrific weakness for the island Weyr. What would happen when Ista became first winglight and then entirely unable to be an effective thread-fighting force? Jarrin shuddered at the thought of the people of the three lordships under Ista's protection, waiting on the brink of threadfall for dragons that never came at all – or came too late, in numbers too small. He had told Lystar that he wouldn't leave while she was in danger, and it was true. But it didn't still the cold shiver that trickled down his spine.

'Calm down, Jarrin,' he muttered to himself, checking his speculation. It might never come to that. If they were lucky, then the illness would fail to spread beyond the few unfortunates currently infected. It would never _become_ a plague, never become the sort of danger that turned his blood cold when he thought of it.

He sketched on for a while, watching the shape of the rough black lines as they trailed across the hide, and blocking out all his other thoughts.

With no dragon to transmit the thoughts and emotions of the Weyr to him, Jarrin was completely unprepared for the sudden eerie wail that sent him jolting to his feet. He stared around, gazing down into the bowl, trying to spot what could possibly be the cause of the thin, heart-rending noise.

Opposite him, down on the first level of weyrs above the ground, a bronze dragon struggled out of one of the great openings. His mouth was open, and the noise that Jarrin could hear was the dragon's scream. Jarrin could see his colour gleaming in the sunlight, but the dragon was half-swathed in white bandages, and it was clearly paining him to move. Jarrin heard someone in the bowl shouting, but the bronze dragon ignored it, jumping from its ledge and forcing its wings to pump, limping into the air, twisting and writhing frantically in pain and distress, still screaming heartache to the sky.

Then – long before the labouring creature reached Jarrin's height, long before it had enough clearance for safety – the injured bronze winked out. For a second Jarrin's ears rang in the sudden silence. Then a dragon somewhere in the Weyr set up a keening wail, and others took it up, sustaining the note that ebbed and throbbed and grew strong again. Jarrin could feel the sadness of the Weyr around him, radiating out of hundreds of dragon minds so strongly that it affected even him – but somehow, the noise that stayed with him was the wailing scream of the dragon seperated forever from his lifemate.

Thoroughly shaken, Jarrin sat down with a thump.

* * *

It was some time later that the watch rider returned, and Jarrin slowly made his way away down the narrow twisting staircase back towards the Weyr bowl.

He met Marti coming up the stairs. 'Jarrin! I was looking for you,' said the young queenrider.

'You were? What have I done?'

Marti narrowed her eyes as if trying to decide whether he was joking, but then shook her head and carried on. 'You saw – ?' She gestured vaguely over her shoulder, but Jarrin knew exactly what she meant.

'Who was it?'

'Ilmeth. V'dar.'

Jarrin shook his head slowly, running a hand through his short, dark hair. 'He was a good man. You'll miss him.'

'Yes, I will.' Marti's eyes went distant for a minute.

Jarrin frowned slightly. He'd meant it as a general comment, not as a specific condolement to the practical young woman. 'I'm sorry,' he said gently, 'but have I missed something? I didn't…'

'You didn't know?' Marti looked at him curiously and then shrugged. 'There's no reason why you should, I suppose, but I'm used to everyone knowing that Ilmeth flew Amerenth.'

Jarrin gaped at her. 'You were _weyrmates_? I had no idea!'

Marti was shaking her head. 'No. We – we didn't feel that way about each other. We didn't stay together afterwards. But we were friends. Good friends.'

Jarrin looked at her, suddenly realising that he knew very little about the dark young queenrider. She was small and thin, but carried an aura of competence and a sensible, commanding personality that more than made up for her size, and her face was handsome rather than beautiful. _She's not as pretty as K'beth's little protégée_, the Harper thought. _But who said being pretty is what makes a dragonrider?_ He ran a hand through his hair, thoughtfully. Maybe he'd better ask Lystar to fill him in on Marti. 'I'm sorry.'

Marti shrugged again. 'Not your fault.' She paused and added, 'You dropped something.'

Jarrin looked down at where she was pointing and saw the scrap of hide he'd been scribbling on. 'Oh, that's not important. Anyway… why were you looking for me?'

The junior Weyrwoman's expression went from pensive to grim. 'We need your help. Come down to the Weyrleaders' weyr and we'll explain.'

Jarrin nodded and started to follow her down the stairs. On his way he stopped to scoop up the little piece of hide he'd been drawing on. He glanced at it and caught his breath with a wry smile. _So this is what I draw when I don't think_…

Then, with hardly a break in his step he carried on, crumpling up the hide and stuffing it back in his pocket. He didn't need to look at it again – what it contained was already impressed on his thoughts. In rough, sweeping charcoal strokes, he had sketched a vivid picture of Lystar's face.

* * *

In the depths of the Lower Caverns, it was as if Ista's burning sun had never existed. The air around Lystar was cool and clammy. It was also dark. All the glows were old ones, half-extinguished. Lystar made a mental note to get Gilda to send some good ones down, but it was only a thought at the back of her brain, hidden somewhere behind the leaden lump that her task imposed on her thoughts. She still couldn't believe the enormity of what she'd been told.

The dozen or so ragged figures lurking in the shadows regarded the young dragonrider with hostility. They were only here at all because it was Lystar. If any other rider had come down then they would have scuttled away out of sight. But Lystar had persuaded Gilda to make sure that they had reasonable food. Lystar had got help – and eventually justice – when one of their number was taken violently and against her will by a roused dragonrider after he'd lost out in a mating flight. They had no sense of community or of supporting one another, but dimly all of them felt that Lystar was the drudges' friend.

'Are you saying we're all going to die?' Kalla asked bluntly. She was a young woman with matted and dirty blonde hair, who supported a thirteen-month-old baby on her hip. She knew how to duck and hide and keep out of sight, but unlike some of the others, she was no broken spirit.

'No!' said Lystar quickly. 'No! It's true that it's dangerous… we thought it was going to be all right, but there are seventeen people who've called in sick today. Somehow, this illness has gone overnight from being hard to contract to being…' She shook her head. 'To being something that anyone can catch, seems like. But it's not so dangerous for you. That's one thing I came down to say. Of the people sick… only three of them are from the Lower Caverns. Somehow – we don't know how – this disease is affecting the riders far more than others.'

'And is that why you came?' Gerro was old for a drudge, well into his forties, and he was smart and sly enough to have made it that far.

'No. I came because… R'lan and Reia are going to call a meeting, for the whole Weyr. For everyone – for the riders, for the Lower Cavern people, and for you. You should be there. They're going to offer people the choice – to stay here or to go.'

Kalla laughed harshly. 'What does that mean to us? The Weyr owns us. We can't leave.'

'You will be able to,' Lystar said. Her stomach was churning, but she stuck out her chin stubbornly. 'I'll speak to R'lan. You'll have a choice. A real choice.'

'No, we won't. Even if we're allowed to leave, we've got no money, no relations, no trade, nowhere to go except here.'

'But –' Lystar started to argue, then thought better of it. It was true. She felt sick.

* * *

**AN: Ah, I'm glad I got that far… I've been wanting to write something about drudges for ages. It seems to me that nobody actually notices that Pern practices what amounts to slavery – people without money or a craft to make them valuable elsewhere can't leave their Holds (or in this case the Weyr) because of the fear of thread, and that develops into a legal system where they aren't allowed to leave unless the Lord says so, and that develops into a system where they become lower class and get all the dirty jobs and the bad treatment. There's not a lot about it in the books, but it's there if you look for it.**

**Anyway, the horror is well and truly started in Ista Weyr. In the next chapter they're going to do something colossally, heroically, **_**stupidly**_** brave… so I'll try and get that done as quickly as I can!**

**t-d**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey

* * *

**

'No.'

'Jarrin, we need you. This is important. They've got to be convinced.'

'Not by me.'

'Lystar said yes.'

Jarrin went suddenly white. '_What?_'

Marti scowled. 'All right, she didn't really. But she's the only one the drudges would listen to, and she said she'd tell them the truth, that we think they're less at risk. And she said that she understood how important it was for everyone to stay.'

'That doesn't add up to her persuading them to stay in danger,' said Jarrin, stubbornly. 'She wouldn't. I know she wouldn't. Not her.'

Marti looked at him curiously for a while, and then said mildly, 'Aren't we getting sidetracked? We were talking about you speaking to the Weyr.'

'And I said no.' Jarrin sighed. 'Look, Marti, I can see your – R'lan's? – train of thought, because it's true that I'm trained in rhetoric, but that's not the point here. I'm a guest here, I'm not a dragonrider. R'lan and Reia are the Weyrleaders, they're the ones the riders trust and look up to, so they should explain it to the Weyr.'

'R'lan doesn't think he can convince them of the importance and stop them panicking. Jarrin, we'll be lucky if we don't lose another rider before sunset, and all the dragons know it! There's thirty-five people that we know of who're ill now.'

Jarrin considered the grim news. 'What about Reia? She's unflappable.'

'She is.' Marti sighed, and Jarrin noticed that she was twisting her hands together. 'Normally. But she's been sick this morning, and we don't know…'

'Stop.' Jarrin reached out and took Marti's hands to keep them still. He could feel her trembling slightly in his grip. 'You think Reia has the plague?'

'Well, we know that sickness and dizziness and sweating are symptoms, and she's got all of that. Gilda went up to see her, and told her to stay in bed. But she took Meliana with her, and _she_ said she reckons it's certain.' She paused, swallowing, and added, 'But I'd be worried about _her_ if I didn't know she couldn't get ill. She looked pretty white and shaky.'

'So do you. Are _you_ all right?'

'Oh yes, that's not sickness. I'm just… strained.'

Jarrin looked at her closely, spotting the slight glazing of her eyes. 'Something to do with Amerenth?'

'Uh-huh.' Marti smiled wanly. 'It's Shareth. She's going a bit frantic over Reia – who doesn't feel that ill yet, but Shareth realises we're all so worried about her. But the eggs – Shareth has to look after them, that's really important too, so Amerenth and Aneth have to be onto her full time, soothing and reminding her. But she's the dominant queen, so they pick up her panic unless R'lan and I keep them under control. It's not so bad for me, since Amerenth's a queen, but R'lan's having a hard time of it, what with his own worry about Reia too. That's why he can't face explaining things to the Weyr. And I don't want to make things any harder for him, so that's why I asked you to help.'

'All right, I can see that,' Jarrin said, more gently. 'But the answer's still no. I suppose Gilda can't help?'

'She doesn't want to be bothered. I haven't even asked her,' Marti said, frankly. 'I can think of nicer ways to die.'

Jarrin allowed himself a brief grin, but it was abstracted. 'Then that leaves you. I don't know why you didn't think of that already. You're the obvious choice.'

'I know,' Marti whispered. Jarrin looked up at her uncertainly, and she carried on. 'I'll be the Weyrwoman if Reia dies. I'll be responsible. Please don't tell me it's completely illogical, I _know_ it's completely illogical, but I feel like this plague is targeting me personally. First it was V'dar, and now Reia, who's been like an older sister to me. I don't –' Her voice broke. 'This was just like… oh, like a logic puzzle to me – "oh, there's a plague, what shall we do about it?" But it's not like that, Jarrin – it's real. It's horrible, and it's real, and it's killing my friends. I can't ask them to stay.'

Jarrin said sympathetically, 'You don't have to. You only have to explain what's happening and give them the choice. It's always harder for family… shards!' He broke off. 'Family! Marti, does Lystar know? I've got to go to her. You'll be fine, I know you'll be able to do it. See if R'lan will come and support you even if he doesn't speak much.' He dropped her hands and spun away, scanning the gathering crowds.

They'd been having their discussion in the corner of the dining hall, near the speaking platform, while riders and the women of the Lower Caverns filtered in, filling the hall with a buzz of whispers. The atmosphere was tense and cautious. Everyone knew that there was a sickness spreading through the Weyr now. Gossip and rumours were spreading like wildfire. Like fever, Jarrin thought, bitterly. Everyone was gathered close with their friends, looking sideways at other people and wondering who was sick – who would be next – whether the sickness was a killer – what it did to you. He spotted in one far corner a ragged, secretive group who must be the Weyr drudges, huddled furtively together and trying to avoid catching the attention of any of the riders.

Eventually Jarrin spotted the person he was looking for. Lystar had her arm tucked through K'beth's, clinging onto him for support. She looked drawn and white and wretched, and the sight wrung his heart. She must have heard about Reia. The Harper often forgot that the Weyrleaders were Lystar's parents, and it wasn't really something that she talked about, but he knew that both R'lan and Reia – and even foul-tempered old Gilda, Reia's mother – were very dear to Lystar. He hurried as fast as he could through the crowd towards her.

Jarrin exchanged grim nods with K'beth as he arrived next to them in the crowd, and squeezed Lystar's free hand. 'Lystar –'

'Hush.' K'beth gestured behind him, back to the platform. 'I think something's going to happen.'

* * *

Melly listened with only half an ear as Marti climbed onto the platform and raised a hand for silence. She already knew what the goldrider was going to say, and she'd come to the meeting with a different purpose. 'Go and watch the Weyr,' Gilda had told her. 'There'll always be some who try and pretend they're well because they're too cowardly to face up to the fact that they're sick. We have to spot them. Most of the sick so far have also been threadscored – they had no chance to fight off the disease, but if we can catch it early enough in otherwise healthy people, we may be able to do something to help.'

Melly scanned the crowd, watching for the tell-tale signs; someone who stumbled in his walk, someone who had to go out to the privy too often – whether it was to empty their bladder or to throw up, both vomiting and the runs were signs of the disease.

'Cowardly', Gilda had said, but Melly wouldn't have called it that. She could understand the temptation to try and believe that nothing was wrong. There seemed to be a constricting band across her chest, a tightness inside her that had nothing to do with the cramped room. She had been all morning down in the sickroom, with Gilda and Hanna, and all the other women whom the Headwoman had called in hurriedly as the number of sick people rose to disastrous levels. Most of them weren't too ill yet, but some, the ones who'd been sick for some time, looked like living corpses. Melly had carefully blanked her face and tried not to remember her family looking like that – with the dry, frail skin stretched tight over their bones and the shrivelled lips drawn back from unnaturally large-looking teeth.

Even with the space missing from her memory, the space of her own illness, it was impossible. Melly knew the horror. Worse – Melly knew that it couldn't be fought.

No, she told herself. Wrong. Stupid. It _can_ be fought. Anything can. We just don't know how, yet. But we'll find out. Gilda will.

The Headwoman's fierce and dogged determination had impressed Melly. Gilda didn't waste her time with excess emotion, but she was organised and competent and she got things done. With her help, the Weyr – and Melly – might defeat this monster. So Melly told herself. Hiding inside her, in a place she didn't like to examine too closely, was that tight knot of fear.

* * *

'Could I have your attention, please?' Marti asked the room. She spoke quietly, but projected her voice like a professional, Jarrin noticed with faint approval. Everyone in the room had heard the young queenrider speak.

They all hushed up, turning towards Marti with – what? Fear, expectation, hope? She couldn't tell. But Amerenth had shown her the uncertainty and nervousness that was making every dragon in the Weyr fidgety and uneasy, and that she could do something about. She hoped. She swallowed and glanced over the crowd, trying to pick out sympathetic faces. She wished Jarrin hadn't abandoned her. But she had to try and sound competent and in control, because she was the queenrider, with the weight of responsibility pressing down on her shoulders. She straightened her back a little and carried on. 'I know there have been a lot of rumours flying around about plague, and I'm here to try and straighten things out a bit. First let me confirm – there _is_ a sickness, and it is a killer. I don't want anyone to be in any doubt of that. We had hoped that it wouldn't take a hold in the Weyr, but today so many people have come down to the infirmary with the sickness that there seems no doubt it is climbing to epidemic proportions here in the Weyr.'

Marti paused to take a breath, her mind desperately racing ahead for the next words. 'Please understand, I'm not trying to scare you. I'm trying to present the situation truly so that we can decide what to do. As it stands, V'dar is dead, and F'ren, T'fon, R'bidden and N'kor have reached a desperate situation. A lot more people are sick in the early stages of the disease, and more still could be sick who haven't realised that yet. We are faced at this point by a choice – we can stay at Ista Weyr, or those who aren't yet sick could leave and stay at the other Weyrs – we have an agreement with Fort, Benden and Igen on this issue – until the disease has run its course and it is safe to return.

'This choice is not as simple as it sounds. This disease originates in the Keroon desert, and we believe that V'dar brought it back to the Weyr when he Searched there. There is a risk that an apparently healthy person leaving the Weyr could be carrying the sickness and spread it to the other Weyrs, or elsewhere in Pern. You will have to decide – each and every one of you –' She raked her eyes across them to check that everyone heard her. She needn't have bothered. The Weyr was listening to Marti speak in grim silence '– whether it is worth the risk that you are spreading the plague to where it might never otherwise go.'

Marti paused. Partly she wanted that to sink into their minds. Partly she needed time to calm her own racing heart. She'd probably made a mess of it all. It had sounded impressive – well, as good as she could make it – but she hadn't told them about Reia, and she hadn't explained the practical arrangements. She cleared her throat and began again.

'Many of you may have gathered from your dragons that Reia has fallen sick with the early stages of this disease. I'm afraid that's true. Gilda is doing everything that she can for her, and R'lan is with her. That's why you don't see any of them here today, but please understand that I am outlining their plan, and that they have their full support behind everything that I'm saying. Everyone must watch out for the symptoms of this disease in themselves and in their friends. The things to watch for are vomiting, the runs, sickness and dizziness, sweating, excessive thirst, and in the long run loss of weight and extreme sleepiness.

'If you cannot observe any of these factors and you wish to leave the Weyr, then you must report to Gilda and her staff for a medical examination, before you go, and you must do so immediately. It is now mid-afternoon; the Weyr will be sealed as a quarantine zone at sunset this evening, and no one will move in or out past its borders. Meanwhile we will make such alterations to our normal schedule as will allow us to combat the plague more effectively.' Marti paused again, fighting the dryness in her mouth. She was shaking; it didn't matter if she had said everything or not, she couldn't carry on now without breaking down to reveal her own uncertainty and fear.

Outside in the Weyr bowl, a dragon bellowed with pain and anxiety.

* * *

Lystar had barely heard most of Marti's speech – she'd known what would be said anyway, and she'd made her own decision already, standing with Jarrin in her weyr.

_I'm scared_, she said. She felt like great thunderclouds were sweeping greyly around the corner of her mind. _What if they die, Cal? My candidates, my parents, my friends? Jarrin and K'beth?_

_Don't be scared_. Caliath told her, fiercely. _I will look after you, little one. Whatever happens, _I_ will be here_.

_I know, Cal_, said Lystar. She found herself trembling, and clutched K'beth's arm a little tighter. He responded by slipping it around her waist, holding her tight. Jarrin was holding her other hand. Lystar smiled round at them, gratefully. She was lucky to have such good friends, but it just made her more afraid. _I know, Cal. I love you. I –_ she broke off. _Actually, I don't feel too good_.

Caliath picked up the terrible, fearful idea that flashed into her head and roared, ferocious with anxiety. He dashed out of the weyr and spread his wings for the glide down to the weyr bowl which would bring him closer to where Lystar was. All over the cavern, heads turned towards the entrance.

'It's all right, Cal,' Lystar said, aloud, slipping free of K'beth's arm and hurrying towards the doorway that would take her out to join the big blue. People drifted aside to give her space. _Cal, I'm all right. I…_ She took one running step, and then another. The room seemed to be spinning, strangely fuzzy. Then the floor came up to meet her, and Lystar gave in to the general state of the universe and shut her eyes.

* * *

Much later, K'beth and Jarrin sat either side of Lystar's bed and watched her. A constant stream of people had dropped by to see Lystar, who was deeply asleep, wisps of hair clinging to her sweaty face, but the only one whom the two young men had paid any attention to was Gilda.

The old Headwoman hadn't said much. 'There's no point in taking her to the infirmary,' she said, at last. 'We're out of space. Riders will have to be treated in their weyrs.' She had told them to keep Lystar warm and comfortable and to encourage her to drink, and if possible eat, when she woke up. Then she had had to go away and see her other patients, leaving them sitting in a tense and anxious silence while Caliath forced his head through the archway into their living quarters so that he could see his rider, eyes whirling yellower than K'beth had ever seen.

Melly came by just before sunset to see if Lystar had woken.

'I thought you were helping Gilda?' K'beth asked her. His voice was hoarse, as if his throat was swelled up with unshed tears.

The little dark girl nodded. 'I was. I was going to do the health checks for the people leaving.'

'So why aren't you?'

Melly looked up and met his gaze with her deep brown eyes. 'Nobody has asked to leave.'

* * *

**AN: The events of this chapter - where the entire Weyr decides to isolate themselves, at huge personal risk, in order to prevent the plague spreading any further - were inspired by a real life story; one of those times where the truth is stranger and more amazing than anything anyone could invent. Ista Weyr are following the example of the incredible bravery and self-sacrifice of the villagers of Eyam in Derbyshire, England, who made exactly this same choice to prevent the spread of the Black Death during the great epidemic 1665-1666 (I think, but I'm not very good at dates). About 80 of those villagers died, but they delayed the spread of the plague into the north of England by at least two years and therby saved hundreds of lives. You will have to wait and see what will happen to the brave people of Ista Weyr.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: I just had the most appalling physics exam this morning, so I'm kind of writing this to take my mind off things... like the fact that I'm going to fail my physics A-level... so anyway, I've nearly done a whole chapter more, and that should be up quite soon. Please R&R!

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Melly shook loose her hair and then tied it firmly back up, trying to catch every fine, dark strand into her plait. Then she slung the canvas bag Gilda had given her over her shoulder and hurried on through the sweltering heat of the bowl.

She had given up trying to keep track. She couldn't have said how many were ill, how many in a serious condition, how many dead. The Weyr had woken up that morning to another dragon's keening misery, and by midday a brown and two blues had passed _between_ – she thought. The dragons would have known, but Melly was becoming deaf and numb to the heartrending noise. And not everyone sick had a dragon to mourn their passing. One of the few Lower Cavern women ill had died in the night. Melly remembered that; she had been there, checking on the sleeper, when she realised that the woman's slight breathing had died away altogether. She swallowed hard round a sudden lump in her throat, remembering her family slipping away around her.

The noise of heartbroken dragons hadn't woken Melly; like Gilda and Hanna, she'd never been to sleep. The Headwoman had tried to send her to get some rest at one point, but the girl couldn't sleep. She lay down, but found herself rigid, as though every minute not spent with the sick was a minute wasted. They could do little enough to fight the disease, but the ill people needed help all the time. They were weak and dizzy, needing constant help from Gilda's team to sit up, get a drink, or move as far as the privy, and they were in pain. Melly remembered the clawing and the burning in her belly and the endless nausea, and the weak, helpless crying as she found herself not strong enough even to move, and she doled out sleep-inducing fellis with a generous, if shaky, hand. She had got up again within ten minutes of lying down on her cot and grabbed her bag to embark on another endless round of the Weyr.

It was becoming a repetitive routine; struggle up the steps to the top level of weyrs, gasping in the heat and clutching at the rock face for support, then pick her way across that level, stopping at any weyr where she knew someone was sick to go in and see if she could do anything for them. More often than not they would be sleeping, exhausted by the pain and the weakness, and then all that she could do was wipe a sweaty face and try and comfort any friend or relation who might be sitting with the sufferer. Then she would move on, sometimes calling into empty-seeming weyrs to check if the occupants were still healthy, until she had circled the whole bowl, when she would descend one flight of steps and cover the next level of weyrs in the opposite direction. Sometimes she would meet another woman from Gilda's team, crossing the Weyr in the other direction; they would exchange weary, pallid smiles and perhaps a few words, and hurry on.

* * *

In the cool darkness of the old rock passages, Kalla was making a similar round. The drudge had drawn the least favourite duty of emptying the Weyr privies, and she plodded through the narrow passageway that ran behind all the weyrs of the first level with three other drudges, hefting between them the malodorous tank which they would later empty into a pit outside the Weyr and fill in. Kalla, used to the smell and dirt of a drudge's life, was inured to the stench, and she barely noticed when the rock passageway beneath her feet became damp. We spilled some, she thought. Or maybe there's a crack somewhere.

Kalla was equally used to the sudden booming sound of water, as they passed underneath the cascade, the noise echoing down the passageway, and she ignored that too. She had her head full of other worries. At least she'd found someone to look after Benellin while she trudged through her endless chores. She didn't know what to do about the child. She'd never wanted him, but like it or not he was hers to look after and to bring up. Unless she could manage to hand him to Gilda, to be fostered in the Lower Caverns – after all, his father was a dragonrider. She didn't think that she could induce F'mer to take responsibility for his son. She doubted if the bluerider even knew her name – she'd just had the misfortune to be there when he wanted someone.

Kalla spat into the darkness. That one had been a noble before he was a dragonrider. He thought that drudges were just walking furniture, born to make his own life more pleasant. She hefted her corner of their burden a little higher and moved on through the narrow passage.

* * *

When Melly had finished her round she staggered into the main infirmary to report to Gilda. The Headwoman had put a large diagram of the Weyr up on the wall, marking in with a firm hand which weyrs held sick riders. Melly had never learned to write; when she found a new case of the disease, she had to ask Gilda or one of the other women to fill in the sick person's name on the plan.

'I'm using blue ink today,' the Headwoman told her. 'If you see anyone writing on the plan, remind them. If I fill in who fell sick on different days in different colours, then we should be able to estimate how serious any one case will be without struggling up to their weyr to find out.'

Melly, yawning and rocking on her feet, stood looking at the chart for some time after Gilda had left. Five names already had thick black lines through them; but all had been originally written in black ink.

Those are the original cases, Melly thought. She could see V'dar's name, written clearly in the end weyr of the first level, next to the cascade and the staircase, with a firm black bar across it. So the red ink are yesterday's sick.

Red was only a courtesy name for the orange-brown ink. The rusty colour was scrawled everywhere across the chart – Melly quickly spotted Lystar's name, but there were more than twenty others – and today's blue and the original black stood out strongly by comparison.

It was the black that Melly hunted down, suddenly wide awake. This chart could do more than show us how sick people are, she thought. If only we can find patterns, this could show us how it spread! She scanned the rows, picking out the black names. V'dar was one; there he was, on the first level. Was there a geographical connection? Her heart jumped as she saw that V'dar's neighbour was also a name in black ink, and there were three more not very far away, on the same level.

But what about the others? She could see one black name in the Lower Caverns; Gilda had been filling in the sicknesses among her staff in the map space that represented the dining hall, and the single dark name there also had a line through it; then there was one in the candidate barracks. Peculiar both, if V'dar's weyr was to be thought of as the epicentre of the disease.

Maybe that was wrong. There were no weyrs below V'dar's, opening directly onto the Weyr bowl, but the row directly above had only one original case, and one in the row above that; there were more in the very top row of weyrs, three in total, but what could that mean? Melly could see no pattern.

Then she narrowed her eyes. Yes, she could. It meant nothing to her as yet, but – leaving aside the woman and Caden, the candidate – almost all the original cases of sickness were near the extreme right or extreme left of the chart – only one was in the middle. Melly struggled to visualise what that meant when the flat map was translated onto the circular Weyr. That implied that nearly all the original ill riders lived in the same half of the Weyr.

Melly growled with frustration. It was too vague! She didn't know enough.

Then she swayed on her feet.

'Are you sick?' a fierce voice demanded in her ear. 'I can do without brainless helpers who forget to look after themselves properly and catch disease as soon as they get near an ill person.

'I can't get ill,' Melly muttered. 'Gilda, the map…'

'Stop wittering,' the Headwoman said, briskly. 'You may have had _this_ sickness, but there's plenty of others you could catch if you don't eat or sleep, and I'm not going to nurse you through one. Go!'

Obediently, Melly left the infirmary. Her hands felt empty without her bag, and she felt very distant, as though she floated down the corridor towards her bed in the candidate barracks. She didn't notice the hush among the wide-eyed, gossiping girls as she came in, kicked off her boots and lay back on her bed, head whirling into the clouds, still full of her new certainty. She knew that Gilda's map could show her the face of the sickness, if only she could find the right interpreter.

* * *

_I itch_, Rosith said, plaintively.

K'beth could hear the tentative note in her voice. The green dragon knew that he didn't want to be disturbed, and certainly didn't want to leave his sleeping weyrmate. _Can it wait, sweetheart?_ he asked.

_Yes_, said Rosith, stoutly.

K'beth opened his mind to her further. He'd barely spoken to Rosith since Lystar had come down sick, merely accepting her presence as an unseen comfort and reassurance, and he hadn't realised how far he'd blanked her out. Actually, he was astonished at how patient she had been. As soon as he shared his thoughts with her he could feel the green's itch, burning like fire along her spine. _That's pretty serious, love. I'll_ – he looked down at Lystar, palely asleep, and swallowed. She won't miss me for ten minutes, he told himself. She won't even know I've gone. _I'll come and deal with it for you_.

He carefully stood up, and Jarrin, who was sat opposite him on the other side of Lystar's bed, looked up. 'What's wrong?' the harper asked, softly.

'Rosith needs me,' K'beth told him, quietly. He glanced at Lystar again. 'You will… you'll stay with her, won't you?'

Jarrin nodded silently, and K'beth began to walk softly across the weyr towards the entrance where Caliath was still lying. Like the two men, the blue dragon had fallen into silence and stillness, only his still-whirling eyes betraying his anxiety and fear. As K'beth approached he shifted restlessly, and the greenrider looked quickly back at the girl on the bed, wondering if Caliath was somehow reacting to Lystar's condition.

The bluerider moved a little, her eyes blinking open. 'K'beth,' she muttered.

He crossed swiftly back to her side and dropped to his knees, sliding an arm around Lystar's shoulders to support her. 'I'm here.'

'Good.' Lystar managed a watery smile. 'And Jarrin. I'm glad you're here.'

_Are you coming?_ Rosith asked. Now that she had given up trying to conceal the itch from her rider he could feel how much it was hurting her; he really ought to give the green dragon a proper bath and scrub.

K'beth hesitated. Whatever he did, he was going to feel like a betrayer. 'Lystar…' he said slowly, hating himself. 'Rosith, she really needs…'

Lystar blinked at him, then nodded weakly. 'Of course. You have to look after her.' She raised her voice slightly, sounding more like herself as she ordered, 'Cal, shift aside, let K'beth out.'

K'beth paused again. Whatever she said, he had felt Lystar clutch at his arm as he suggested leaving, only to relax her hold as her selfless disposition caught up with her. He knew she didn't really want him to go.

But she'd told him too. Lystar was a dragonrider too – she knew that a dragon came first, above everything. That was the thought that finally set K'beth moving, laying Lystar gently back down as she smiled reassuringly at him. It was the smile that choked up his throat. Lystar's face was cavernous and gaunt and her mouth was twisting slightly in pain, but she was still trying to reassure him.

'Lystar, I –' he began, but she cut him off.

'Go on, go.'

K'beth stared at her for a couple of seconds, then nodded, his lips pressed tightly together, and turned and hurried out of the weyr, ducking through the space Caliath had made for him in the doorway. This has happened before, he thought bitterly, desperately shielding his thoughts from Rosith, so that the green dragon wouldn't know that her request was hurting him. I always have to leave her. And I'm always trying to say something I never quite manage to voice. Last time it was 'I love you.' And this time? I don't know. Maybe that was it again. I love you. He said it to himself, almost as a promise, as a talisman. Lystar, I love you. Please don't… Even in his mind he couldn't voice it. Please get well. Please.

* * *

Jarrin watched blankly as K'beth left. Inside he was incredulous. How could his friend leave Lystar like that?

'Don't blame him,' said the bluerider, weakly, from the bed, and Jarrin jumped slightly as he whipped his head round back towards her. 'He had to go. That's what being a dragonrider means.'

Jarrin was sceptical. Lystar might say what she liked – and scorch it, he'd forgotten how quick she was to go straight to the heart of the matter! – but he would never believe that K'beth had done the right thing. He would never have left, if only _he'd_ been – Jarrin broke off a dangerous line of thought and changed the subject. 'How are you feeling?'

Lystar pulled a face. 'I've been better. Mind you, we've been a lot worse, as well, haven't we, Cal?' The blue dragon rumbled an agreement from the doorway.

'You're supposed to drink a lot of water,' said Jarrin, remembering. 'Here.' He helped her sit up, leaning against a pile of pillows, then poured water into a beaker and held it out to the girl, his hand hovering, wondering if she needed help to drink it.

Lystar spotted that and wrinkled her nose at him as if she were tring to grin. She took the beaker firmly from him. Jarrin swallowed hard as he saw that she needed both hands to support and lift the little cup. He could hear the water inside sloshing and slapping against the beaker as her hands shook.

'Can you manage another cup?' he asked, taking the empty beaker away.

Lystar nodded, accepting another full beaker from him, then winced. 'Shards! You know, they should make numbweed for people's insides. We should get the Healer Hall to work on that.'

'We will,' Jarrin promised, trying to sound upbeat. 'When this plague's over and we can go there.'

Sipping at the drink, Lystar was suddenly serious, as though he had reminded her. 'Who's sick, Jarrin? Who's dead? I heard the dragons… or was that for V'dar?' She frowned. 'I don't remember.'

That hit Jarrin like a shock of cold water. Lystar – _Lystar_ – couldn't remember who was dead. That was… so out of character that it was frightening. Lystar had a capacious and infallible memory for the names, faces and stories of all the people she'd ever met.

'It's all right, Jarrin,' said Lystar, catching his expression and managing to sound impatient even through her weakness. 'I was half-asleep, that's all. And I can't know about the people who aren't dragonriders. What about Caden? How is he? And the others? Only Hessin, Mardanis, Ikor and Ranna were sick, last I knew of. What about the rest of my candidates?'

Somewhat reassured by Lystar's recall of the names of the ill, Jarrin could only shake his head helplessly. 'I don't know,' he confessed. 'I think… more will be sick now.' He swallowed. 'A lot more people are sick now.'

Lystar nodded, wearily. 'I know,' she whispered. 'I knew… there would be deaths. I'm so weak, Jarrin…' Her hands shook, dropping the empty beaker to the floor, and Lystar began to cry helplessly.

Jarrin gathered her into his arms, holding the sick girl against his chest. She seemed as frail and light as a child, as if she were already shedding weight and beginning to shrivel up like the descriptions Melly had given of the people of Keroon's minor Holds. 'It's all right, Lystar,' he muttered into her hair. 'I don't know how, but… somehow, it's going to be all right.'

When he layed her gently back down on the bed, he found that Lystar had cried herself back into an exhausted and painful sleep. With gentle, shaking fingers, Jarrin brushed aside the wisps of brown hair that were clinging to her face. He was glad that no one was there to see them; the harper journeyman knew that his carefully blank face couldn't conceal his painfully clenching heart.

* * *

Marti scratched Amerenth's eyebrow ridge gently. She had snatched a few minutes to be alone with her dragon and finally relax. She had been dealing with the frightened enquiries all day – people who wanted to know how Reia was, people who wanted more information about the plague, even people who had routine management things that Gilda was too busy to deal with. It had been Reia's idea that Marti should make herself visible and available to the Weyr in order to comfort and reassure the people, and the junior Weyrwoman understood the necessity, but it was nice to be able to let go of her confident poise.

She put her arms as far as they would go around her sleek golden queen's neck, and buried her face in Amerenth's hide. _I'm so glad today is over. I just hope tomorrow_… Marti's mental voice trailed off into silence. There was really no point in expecting tomorrow – or any day for the forseeable future – to be any better.

_I'm tired_, said Amerenth, and there was a concerned tone in her voice that made Marti look up in surprise.

_Of course you're tired, dear one, you've been working hard all day keeping Shareth and the other dragons calm. It's all right – it doesn't matter if you're tired now_.

_I'm tired_, Amerenth insisted, her eyes begin to whirl distractedly. _Thread is coming, and I'm so tired_.

Marti froze. 'Faranth's egg,' she said, slowly and deliberately.

The dragons of the Weyr were all distracted and upset – but she'd not even considered that it could be due to anything other than their riders' confusion and fear. Now her mind raced over the pattern of threadfall in their part of the world. _Thank you, dear one. I have to go_.

She turned on her heels and raced towards the Weyrleaders' weyr. They'd forgotten all about it. Thread!


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: Oh dear, I am bad, I should be revising. Never mind. Here is a nice long chapter which didn't go precisely where I intended it to go, but went some other interesting places instead, so I don't mind much. Please R&R – I got a measly two reviews on the last chapter (thanks though to paisley and D.M.Robb)

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'Lystar!'

Jarrin had gone to get some sleep, so when K'beth stepped out into the outer room to see Rosith Lystar had been left alone. The greenrider had only been gone for one minute, but in that time Lystar had managed to drag herself out of bed.

After the first heartstopping moment when he thought she'd gone altogether, K'beth spotted her and breathed again. She was sitting in the corner by the door, leaning back against Caliath's huge sapphire head with her eyes shut, and the blue dragon was rumbling protectively in his throat. 'Lystar,' he said again, relieved. 'What are you doing?'

'Sitting with Cal,' she said, without opening her eyes.

K'beth opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. Lystar looked so peaceful, sitting with her dragon – and with her dragon was exactly where a dragonrider ought to be.

_Caliath is reassured_, Rosith told him.

_Yes, I see. It's all right, love, I'm not going to insist that Lystar goes back to bed_.

'Can I have a drink?' Lystar asked, her frail voice tearing at K'beth's heart. 'I'm really thirsty.'

'Of course.' He filled a beaker for her, and sat down beside her while she drank, slipping an arm around her shoulders. Lystar was nothing but skin and bones; he could feel that she was shedding flesh already.

Outside, he heard a whisper of noise begin; the thin keening of dragons bemoaning the loss of one of their own. To K'beth's ears it had a pale, tired edge to it. The dragons had given the call so many times over the last couple of days that it was becoming monotonous.

Lystar, in his arms, twisted her head upwards to look at Caliath, and K'beth looked up too with a sudden, breathcatching fear. It could be the big blue dragon that the Weyr was wailing for – even within the next few days. K'beth swallowed and instinctively tightened his grip on Lystar's fragile form, as if he could help her hang onto her life.

_Who was it, sweetheart?_ he asked, quietly.

_Oreth_. Rosith said. The green was subdued, and K'beth remembered that the old brown had been a friend of hers. He let his sympathy – and his own sorrow – wash over his dragon's mind.

'G'zul,' Lystar whispered. She blinked desperately to expel the crystal drops that K'beth could see glittering on her eyelashes. 'He said I was the most useless weyrling he'd ever had the misfortune to teach.'

'He loved you.'

'I know.' Lystar swallowed, her mouth twisting, then shuddered convulsively. 'K'beth, I'm going to be sick…'

'Right.' K'beth leapt up and grabbed the bucket that was standing beside Lystar's bed. The girl leant over it, shaking, and K'beth knelt by her, supporting her with one arm while he held her hair back in the other hand.

'Here,' he said, gently guiding her back into a sitting position when her stomach stopped heaving. He handed his weyrmate a beaker of water, and she sipped slowly, rinsing her mouth out, and spat the liquid into the bucket.

'Can I have another one to drink?' she asked, handing him back the cup. 'I'm so thirsty.'

K'beth nodded, and silently refilled the cup. She took it from him, hands shaking with the effort, and he watched her, desperately swallowing against the lump in his throat. Lystar had thrown up so often over the past few days that it seemed as though her stomach was trying to expel itself. There was nothing in her belly any more; she was vomiting up almost clear liquid, and K'beth was terribly worried that something in her insides might be permanently damaged.

He looked up, startled, as Rosith suddenly started alert. A dragon was calling across the weyr – not the terrible wailing of a grieving animal, but the brassy bugle that warned of threadfall.

_Every healthy rider is called_, Rosith confirmed._ Thread falls!

* * *

_

Melly paused outside Lystar and K'beth's weyr, clenching her hands into fists. She had been in only once, the first evening after Lystar fell sick, and the bluerider hadn't been too ill at that stage. She'd made excuses not to visit again – she was so busy, and Gilda had been visiting Lystar almost as regularly as she made the trip up to the Weyrleader's weyr, so Melly hadn't really been needed – but she knew that the real reason was that she was scared of what she might find.

The dragon's bugles meant nothing to Melly; she barely registered that the noise was unusual. She lifted her chin and stepped tentatively into the weyr.

Both Rosith and Caliath were in the outer room, although Caliath's head was pushed through the doorway away from the dark girl. Feeling Rosith's eyes on her, she bowed nervously to the green dragon. 'Good afternoon. I've come to see how Lystar is…'

She made her way onwards, sliding through the narrow gap between Caliath's head and the wall – only Gilda of all Lystar's visitors had the nerve to order the big blue dragon out of her way – and into the Weyr. 'K'beth?' she asked.

K'beth had carried Lystar back to her bed and was laying her gently down. Melly hesitated on the threshold, not wanting to disturb the weyrmates' moment together, but K'beth had heard her and stood up, looking round. 'Melly!'

He looked down at Lystar for a second, and swiftly bent to kiss her forehead. 'I'll be back,' he told her, softly.

Melly saw Lystar nod weakly, and then K'beth strode across the weyr towards the dark girl and the doorway.

'Wait, K'beth,' Lystar called, and the tall dragonrider stopped, looking back. 'K'beth, will you take Cal down to the lake – later – and give him a proper wash? I can't –'

K'beth tried to smile at her. 'Of course I will,' he promised. Then he turned and took Melly's arm. 'Thread falls. I have to go. You'll stay with her, won't you?'

Melly saw the pain and the fear on his face and nodded before she remembered that she was supposed to be making a round of the weyrs. 'Oh. I –'

K'beth looked at her beseechingly, and Melly crumpled. 'Yes. I'll look after her, I promise.'

The tall, dark dragonrider threw a grateful smile at her and an agonised glance back at Lystar, then slipped away into the outer room, softly calling his dragon's name. Melly watched him go. She didn't – couldn't – say out loud, 'Of course I'll sit with Lystar. Anything that would make you smile at me like that.'

When K'beth had gone, Melly looked round for the first time at Lystar. The assistant weyrlingmaster's face was already skeletal, the skin stretched tight over her skull, and Melly suddenly thought how weak she looked. As though she might die. And if she did, then K'beth… Melly swallowed suddenly, her eyes widening. She'd meant to think how devastated K'beth would be at losing his weyrmate, but instead she'd suddenly found that the thought jostling for space in her head was, If Lystar died then K'beth would be _free_…

Lystar made a huge effort and lifted herself up onto her elbows, her whole frame shaking. 'Melly…'

'I'm here. Lie down.' Melly had got so used to being a sick room attendent over the last few days, that she was beside Lystar's bed before she knew it, gently pushing the sick bluerider back down onto her bed and dextrously pouring a beaker of water with the other hand, her sudden enchanting, repulsive thought vanished. 'What can I do for you?'

'Tell me what's going on,' Lystar said. She was trying to sound determined, but in her thread of a voice it merely sounded plaintive. 'I think Jarrin and K'beth are hiding things from me, or maybe they just don't know. How is my mother, Melly?'

'Your mother?' Melly frowned. 'I don't… who's…?'

'Reia,' Lystar said. 'I haven't seen… I know she's no better, because Father hasn't been here. He promised he'd let me know the minute he was able to leave her.'

'She's no better,' Melly confirmed, as gently as she could. 'She's… probably a bit worse than you, but not as bad as some people. She… isn't dying.'

Lystar had noticed the pauses in her speech, and managed a thin, cracked laugh through her dry throat. 'Yet, huh? Like me.' She pinned Melly down with the stare of her sunken eyes. 'Like me, right?'

Melly cleared her throat and tried to be tactful. K'beth would never forgive her if she upset Lystar. 'You're a lot less ill than some people,' she said. 'For the length of time you've had the sickness, you're quite well. You've got your age and physical fitness in your favour.'

'Not like poor old G'zul,' Lystar said. Melly looked down at her quickly. The bluerider had seemed to shrink against her pillows, and tears were glinting in her eyes. Melly felt a wash of sympathy flood over her, and she reached out and took the other girl's hand. She hadn't really known the Weyrlingmaster – but she knew all about how it felt when the plague took someone you cared about. And Lystar's mother was sick as well.

Melly felt her own eyes burning. She'd didn't remember her own mother falling sick. All that she recalled was that a few days after she'd contracted the sickness she'd fallen into a lethargical haze of waking and sleeping – and then she had woken up, weak but clear-headed, and all alone.

She felt Lystar's shaking hand close weakly on her own. She looked at the bluerider, wondering if she needed anyhing, but found that she couldn't see her through the liquid swimming in her own vision.

'You're crying,' Lystar whispered.

Melly swiped the back of her hand across her eyes, and examined its wetness. 'I never did before, you know that? Isn't that strange?' She swallowed around the lump in her throat. 'I was too busy trying to keep moving. Trying to keep up. Trying to survive.'

Fresh bursts of tears squeezed themselves out of the corners of her eyes, and Melly suddenly thought of her father, of the way his eyes glittered when he laughed, and her mother up to her elbows in bread dough, and her elder brother, fooling about trying to ride the herdbeasts, and her little sister, racing out into the yard for the privilege of winding the windlass on the well and watching the full bucket come rising out of the darkness. Elladree had been the first to get sick. Melly could still remember how by the end she had been light enough to lift in one hand.

Lystar squeezed her friend's hand as she wept, and hoped that Melly's tears were healing ones. It was funny how much easier it was to deal with problems that weren't your own.

Lystar's own demon was lurking somewhere at the back of her mind. There was no point in talking to Caliath about it – the dragon would just protest loudly – so Lystar whispered it silently to herself.

I don't want to die.

* * *

K'beth and Rosith looked for M'rind in the organised chaos of the Weyr bowl, but failed to see him.

_Maybe he's sick_, the greenrider said. _But what do we do now?_

_Aneth says we are combining into four large scratch wings, about fifty dragons in each_, Rosith told him, her head cocked and eyes whirling as she listened to the big bronze. _He asks us to join those on the far right under T'kan's leadership_.

_Fair enough. It's going to be tough, fighting with strange dragons under a leader who doesn't know us. We're going to have to look out for ourselves, sweetheart. Will you be all right?_

_Yes. It is a short fall coming down from the north_, Rosith said, still relaying information. _No reserves needed. Load up as much firestone as you can carry – the weyrlings fly with us_.

_What reserves?_ K'beth asked grimly. _Four wings of fifty makes only two hundred riders, and that includes the weyrlings. Love, this is going to be… probably the most dangerous Fall we've ever flown_.

It didn't take long to get the relatively small number of riders into the air and through _between_ to hover over the Igen plains. Ahead of them they could see the grey curtain of deadly rain approaching, and the silhouettes of dragons wheeling and turning in front of it. Occasionally K'beth could pick out a flash of startlingly bright flame against the greyness.

There was no sound except the faint hissing of the approaching thread. K'beth swallowed, glancing forwards at his temporary wingleader, and then across at Aneth's bulk. About the only good thing about this threadfall was that the riders had seen R'lan about the Weyr for the first time in days. The Weyrleader looked haggard, but he issued commands as clearly and incisively as ever. Now he was hovering slightly ahead of the first wing of dragons, his shoulders grimly set.

He knows it, thought K'beth. He looked along the assorted ranks of dragons, and for the first time they seemed fragile, tiny in comparison to the deadly rain of thread. R'lan knows it. There aren't enough of us.

He'd been thinking almost constantly over the past few days of the terrible, heartwrenching fear that Lystar might leave him alone. He'd never realised that it could be the other way round.

_I love you, Rosith_, he said, softly. He could see; they all could see; that flying today, with so few, could prove fatal for many of them. But what choice did they have? They were dragonriders, and thread was falling.

Rosith caught his sombre mood. _I love you_.

K'beth set his shoulders and prepared to fight for perhaps the last time as thread came hissing towards them. Rosith turned her head for a chunk of firestone.

Then K'beth heard a sound like a silken sigh overhead and glanced upwards, firestone forgotten in his hand, his mouth dropping open.

Above the ragged band of forlorn Ista riders, a full Weyr of dragons burst out of _between_ and coasted down to engage the deadly silver threads.

* * *

It was full night at Ista by the time that Katriel leaned forwards on the solid stone table in the centre of the Benden Weyr council chamber, her chin propped up in her hands, as J'sor chatted quietly with the other Weyrleaders. She watched her weyrmate affectionately. They had never been passionately in love, but years of companionship and co-operation had drawn them closer and closer into a friendly partnership.

J'sor's odd-coloured eyes – one blue and one green – flickered around the room, and Katriel followed his gaze, inspecting each Weyrleader in turn. She had to try and gauge how they would react the proposal – and what arguments might sway the sceptics. She knew it was too much to hope that their impulsive actions would pass entirely uncensored.

_Dragonmen must fly when thread is in the sky_, said Lumeth, serenely.

_Precisely, my heart_, Katriel answered, dryly. _I just have a feeling that some people are going to quibble about _which_ dragonmen should fly _when.

She restrained the urge to drum her fingers on the table impatiently. J'sor was taking his own sweet time calling for silence and bringing this meeting round to the subject in question. She knew perfectly well that a few hours delay wouldn't make any difference at all to Ista Weyr – not now that the immediate danger had been averted – but she felt as though the dangerous question of threadfall over Ista, Igen and Nerat Holds must be dealt with instantly.

Long practice made her able to curb her impatience and turn her attention back to the Weyrleaders as they talked grimly, trying to reason out their motives.

T'gin of Fort: as Senior Weyrleader, he'd had a right to demand to hold this meeting, which might affect all the Weyrs, at Fort, but he'd chosen to allow J'sor and Katriel to play host. Why? The only difference that it made was in allowing Katriel, the host Weyrwoman, to attend. T'gin might want that because she had been the one in contact with Ista, but Katriel was inclined to take a more optimistic view: it looked as though he was making an oblique gesture in support of their proposal. He must know that it originated with Katriel and her friendship with Reia of Ista, rather than with the quieter and more cautious J'sor. But could he be induced to give that support vocally? Fort's Weyrleader carried a lot of influence.

L'mek of Igen: Katriel had him, she thought. His Weyrbound territory bordered Ista's, so he and R'lan had worked together in the past. Alongside T'gin and J'sor, he had been one of the Weyrs to offer to play host to Ista riders fleeing the sickness. He had a fiery and passionate temperament, and a couple of remarks he'd dropped as he arrived had told her that he had been impressed and inspired by Ista Weyr's self-sacrificing quarantine.

M'fer of Telgar: he was weak. He would oppose them; he would oppose anything which caused him trouble or which required decision and leadership. Her trouble there was going to be to prevent any of the other Weyrleaders listening to the spineless wimp. Privately Katriel thought that those who bewailed winglight Telgar's small clutches and lack of queens should look no further than their colourless and indecisive Weyrleader.

_Poldenth is very boring_, Lumeth agreed. _Large, but boring. I like Ashermenth better_.

_I'm glad one of us does_, Katriel thought back to the queen. Ashermenth's rider, V'kon of High Reaches, was a complete mystery to her. He was the oldest of all the Weyrleaders, with his thick black hair streaked with silver, and he was listening to the conversation in silence, with a suspicion of a sardonic smile. Katriel had never known why he made the decisions he did, but V'kon was a stickler for Weyr autonomy, so he might oppose their proposal. That could be fatal to her. Yes, Katriel decided. It was V'kon and T'gin that she and J'sor would have to focus on convincing.

'Weyrleaders.' J'sor spoke up from his seat at the head of the table, breaking up the couple of small conversations going on. 'I think we all know why we're here.'

'To discuss your behaviour today,' V'kon said, meditively. 'Really very rash, my dear J'sor.'

'Absolutely,' M'fer whined. 'I don't know what you thought you were doing, Benden, but if you're expecting us to endorse your meddling –'

'Meddling!' L'mek exploded, incredulously. 'J'sor acted in all good faith and prevented what could have been a very nasty situation.'

Katriel sighed inwardly, not allowing her shoulders to sag even the tiniest bit. She could see that it was going to be an absolutely typical meeting.

_V'kon is just fooling around_, Lumeth told her. _He isn't serious. He just likes to make trouble_.

_If his 'fooling around' convinces T'gin to oppose us, then he's going to make a lot more trouble than he bargained for. Dear heart, they _must_ agree to this proposal. I cannot see any other way to keep Pern thread-free_.

Fort's quiet Weyrleader cleared his throat. 'Perhaps we could start at the beginning?' he asked. 'I haven't had much of a chance to speak to Benden yet, and I would appreciate knowing exactly what happened. I know that Ista has quarantined itself, and I've received some rather garbled messages about threadfall…'

Katriel breathed out. T'gin was still willing to give them a chance.

J'sor nodded. 'Well, it was rather confusing…'

* * *

Benden time, it had been the middle of the night.

Completely disoriented, Katriel and J'sor had woken to Lumeth's bellowing. The Weyrwoman had scrambled to her feet and raced out to her dragon. 'My heart! What's wrong?'

_Thread falls!_ Lumeth told them. _Thread falls at Igen. Shareth of Ista tells me. Her rider is afraid. Ista gathers to fly, but musters only two hundred healthy riders. Reia is afraid that some do not know that they are sick. They won't be able to dodge. They will fall out of the air. She shows Shareth these pictures_.

Katriel had heard enough. _Call the dragons, my heart. Muster the Weyr_.

She dashed back into their sleeping area, flipping the lid off the glowbasket and grabbing for her wherhide riding gear.

'What is it?' asked J'sor, blinking in the sudden light but catching his weyrmate's urgency.

'We're flying thread at Igen plains,' Katriel told him, briskly. 'Lumeth's waking the Weyr. She's heard from Reia via Shareth. Ista's got barely two hundred riders fit to fly, and Reia's giving Shareth nightmare pictures. They need help.'

J'sor frowned. 'Isn't Reia sick?' he queried. 'Maybe she's panicking a bit – not quite thinking clearly? Are you sure that it's necessary?' Nevertheless, he climbed out of bed.

'I'm sure.' Katriel told him. 'Reia has the coollest head of anyone I know.'

'Certainly, she called you,' J'sor said, absently. 'Gedenth and I will organise things outside. The Lower Caverns won't be awake – you'll have to dash down and alert them.'

'In this racket?' Katriel asked over her shoulder as she ran out to where Lumeth waited to give her a lift down from the weyr ledge. 'They'll be awake.'

As she left the weyr the bugling call of dragons signalling threadfall was echoing around the dark Weyr. The solid blackness of the Weyr bowl was punctuated with the steady lights of glows, flashing and moving as dragons boiled out of their weyrs carrying the lights, or obscuring them briefly from Katriel's vision. Down near the entrance to the Lower Caverns a solid pool of lights lit the silhouettes of figures hefting sacks of firestone out of the stores, and Katriel breathed a silent thanks for thread drills. Even in the unusual darkness conditions, Benden Weyr knew what to do when thread came.

She'd run in to explain the situation to the Weyrhealer, Nodan, and Headwoman Dramma. By the time she returned, she only just had time to take her flamethrower from a junior queenrider before J'sor and Gedenth had ordered the first wing into the air.

As they burst out of _between_ into the breathtaking heat of an Igen summer afternoon, eyes blinking and watering in the sudden light, Katriel had time for a flash of pride. It had taken Benden Weyr barely fifteen minutes from alert to arrival.

* * *

T'gin nodded. 'Thank you. I think that clears things up somewhat. It's hard to see what else you could have done, given the circumstances. Although I do wish that you had told the rest of us then.'

J'sor smiled wryly. 'It never even came into my head. I had enough to worry about flying thread over unfamiliar territory. My riders aren't used to that heat.'

'Mine are,' L'mek said. 'The thread was moving down out of upper Igen, so I had it first. I should have stayed to help, but we were all tired by then, and J'sor assured me that he had it under control.'

'I had,' said J'sor. 'Although I think we're all going to be grateful for Igen's sandworms. But Igen was very good about the handover.' He nodded respectfully to L'mek. 'They stayed with us until we'd picked it up completely. Gedenth spoke to Aneth, and R'lan and I agreed that Ista should return to their Weyr, given the quarantine, but they stayed linked up to us and offered advice.'

'That's a thought,' M'fer said, 'Ista broke quarentine!' Everyone looked at the Telgar Weyrleader, who had turned white. 'What's the point of going into quarentine if they just fly out when they want to?'

'Anyone would think you were afraid, Telgar,' V'kon said, lazily.

M'fer began a gabbled protest, but T'gin cut him off. 'You can't criticize R'lan for that,' he said. 'Thread fell, so Ista Weyr flew. The fact that they weren't strong enough to defeat it alone is another problem altogether. When the lands under their protection were threatened, _they flew_. That comes above any other consideration.'

J'sor said mildly, 'The question is about what we do next time thread falls in a Hold Weyrbound to Ista Weyr.'

'We fly,' said L'mek, instantly. 'If thread lands anywhere on Pern, we're all doomed.'

'Is Ista unable to defend its own land?' V'kon drawled. 'If it wishes to maintain its identity as a Weyr, it should be able to fight alone.'

'Enough!' Katriel made her first contribution to the conversation, eyes flashing. 'Ista have chosen to be bound to their Weyr in order to save your ungrateful hides!' She glared round at the assembled Weyrleaders.

_Gently_, Lumeth rumbled, and Katriel moderated her tone without abandoning her firmness.

'They deserve our respect and our help. They're lonely and frightened; they don't even have a craft-trained healer available. Their Senior Weyrwoman has the plague, and you might recall that – also through no fault of Ista Weyr – they have only the two queens at present. If we can lift from them the burden of fighting thread, then we _must_ do so.'

'In answer to your question,' J'sor said, quietly, breaking into the silence his weyrmate's comments occasioned. 'Ista could have probably handled last night's threadfall, but only at great cost to riders and dragons. And if the infection rate there continues, in three or four days, when thread next falls in their land, they will _not_ be able to defend against it.'

'Then we have to help,' T'gin said, heavily. 'I agree with you, J'sor – I don't see that we have a choice. Fort is with you, Benden.'

'And Igen!' L'mek slammed a fist down onto the table to emphasize his pledge.

They looked round at the two remaining men. V'kon raised his eyebrows. 'Do you have to ask? Naturally High Reaches is with you. After the Weyrwoman's eloquence, how could I refuse?'

'If everyone else agrees, I can't argue,' said M'fer. 'But it's a bad idea. It'll all lead to tears, you mark my words.'

Katriel barely heard him. She was smiling, and suddenly, inexplicably, blinking back tears. We're with you, Reia, she said silently to herself. We won't let you down. _You hear that, my heart? They agreed!_


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: This is a shorter chapter, and I'm not so happy with it as I have been with the last couple, but I'm really busy right now and I don't have time to rewrite, so I thought I'd post anyway.**

**Amere: Thanks ever so much for your review – I thought I'd better answer you here because you asked a very sensible question that I thought other people might be interested in hearing the answer to. I **_**did**_** invent a reason why a Craft-trained Healer (or two) wasn't sent to Ista at the outbreak of the plague, I just never found a convenient place to slot that information into the story, so I just left it out and hoped that no one would notice (only you are too smart for me ;-P ). It was because Healers had been at the Keroon Holds where the earlier outbreaks of plague happened, but they never found a cure or got any idea of what to do about the disease, and also they lost a lot of people there, so when it broke out at Ista it was decided that there was no point in sending a Healer, since there would be nothing he could do more than what Gilda and her team were already doing, and he might just die. Having one would boost the morale at Ista (and it's the morale that Katriel is thinking of when she points out the fact that they haven't got one), but would be no practical help.**

**Anyway… on with the show!

* * *

**

Melly swallowed a hasty mouthful of lukewarm klah and stared at the map. The map. She _knew_ it held the answers. But not for her.

She growled in frustration. There was probably a connection – almost certainly there was a connection – between those black names, but how could she ever find it? She couldn't even tell who those black names were. The only one she knew was V'dar, because someone had pointed out to her which was his weyr. The rest were just so many meaningless scribbles to Melly's eyes.

Crossed out scribbles. Only one of those twelve names belonged to a rider still struggling to survive.

Melly swore, and slammed her fist into the wall, spilling what remained of her klah. She had to find Gilda. This time she'd _make_ the Headwoman listen to what she had to say.

She turned decisively, hefting her bag onto her back and listening to the noise of fellis juice swilling around stoppered bottles. And they _must_ find something better to give the sick riders. Anything that would help them fight the disease, anything at all would be an improvement on the endless dosing out of painkillers.

Melly caught the arm of the Headwoman's second as she bustled around the packed infirmary. Even with the riders being treated in their own weyrs, there were more sick down in the Lower Caverns than they had enough beds for, or enough pairs of hands to help.

'Where's Gilda?' the dark girl demanded.

'I don't know,' Hanna told her. 'She may be up in the Weyrleaders' weyr, or she may have decided to make a round herself. She was muttering about going to see Lystar. Here, will you help me lift Senna?'

The usually placid woman had her mind full of the sick. She didn't even ask why the small candidate thought she needed to speak to the Headwoman. Melly helped her with the sick girl – recognising with a start the lively red-haired candidate whose eyes were burning bitterly with frustration and humiliation – and then took advantage of Hanna's distraction as another healer came across to slip away.

Outside the infirmary door she paused. Where would be the best place to look for Gilda? Up at the Weyrleaders' weyr, she decided. That was only one place to look, much easier than trying to search the whole Weyr in case Gilda was doing a round of the sick.

Melly heaved herself up the steep, narrow staircase that cut through the rock to the back entrance of the queen's weyr, listening out for voices from above. If she could hear the Headwoman's tart voice then she would stop and wait until Gilda came down. She didn't want to intrude.

But it was a much younger voice that was talking passionately above her. Melly knew that she recognised it, but it took her a few seconds to place the girl talking. The other queenrider, that was the one – the neat, dark girl only a little senior to herself in both years and inches. Melly couldn't think of her name.

'R'lan, you have got to come out,' the junior queenrider was saying, earnestly. 'You're the Weyrleader – the Weyr needs you.'

'I can't leave Reia alone.' R'lan's voice was almost loud enough to make Melly jump, and she realised that the Weyrleader had retreated into the stairway she was climbing in order to talk without disturbing the sick Weyrwoman. She stopped climbing, doubtfully. She didn't want to walk into the middle of an argument – but she _did_ want to know if Gilda was up there. If she stayed where she was for a little while, then if Gilda _was_ up in the Weyrleader's weyr, Melly was bound to hear something from her soon.

'Someone can stay with her, R'lan, but I was talking to the riders, and they haven't seen you at all except just the once when you flew out. H'gan told me that until that happened they thought maybe you were sick too. They need reassuring, R'lan! Reia's sick, Lystar's sick, everyone knows someone who's – no, worse; by now, everyone has a friend who's dead. Gilda isn't a comforting person, and I'm not even twenty turns old. They need _you_.'

There was a pause, and Melly, who had been wondering about creeping away down the stairs, froze, not wanting to make a noise.

When the junior queenrider spoke again, it was much more quietly. 'R'lan, what would Reia say?'

Melly heard the Weyrleader draw in a ragged breath. 'She said once… she didn't know if Weyrleaders could ever be good parents. She'd tell me now that maybe they can't always be good weyrmates, either. All right. You're going to be a sharding good Weyrwoman one day, Marti – but not yet, if I have anything to do with it! When Gilda comes up next then I'll ask if she can sit with Reia while I go out.'

That was enough for Melly; she knew that Gilda wasn't up in the weyr with them. She turned and crept away down the stairs as fast as she could, hoping that the junior queenrider – Marti, that was the name, she must remember it – wouldn't come charging down after her and realise that she had been listening in on their conversation. Not that she'd meant to, of course.

Somehow Melly doubted that excuse would hold water with the Weyrleader.

* * *

Melly stood in the centre of the bowl and squinted up into the blazing sun. If Gilda was somewhere out in the Weyr, climbing the staircases and going into the weyrs would be more likely to involve her in helping the sick than to help her find the Headwoman. And every minute she didn't find Gilda, Melly began to be more and more sure that with the Headwoman's intimate knowledge of the Weyr they would find the vital connections on the map. Her mind ranged again over the questions that were bothering her. What was the connection between those twelve original cases? What was the connection between them and the epidemic that had suddenly swept over the Weyr?

Melly turned round slowly, trying to watch all the weyr entrances. If Gilda was going from one to another, she had to come out into Melly's vision soon.

The minutes passed. Melly scowled in frustration. Maybe she'd missed Gilda – perhaps the Headwoman had slipped out of one Weyr and into another while her back was turned? The sun was beating down on her, and her back was sweaty under the tunic Lystar had leant her out of the Weyr stores.

There was still no sign of Gilda. Melly shifted uncertainly. Despite the tropical heat, she felt almost cold inside.

What's happening to me? she thought, angrily. I was so calm and competent until… I guess until I sat with Lystar yesterday. Now I'm afraid again.

* * *

Hanna had barely noticed that Gilda had been gone for some time. The second was perfectly capable of running the system established by the Headwoman for looking after the sick, but she didn't have any attention to spare. Nor did she expect Gilda to explain to her if she decided to change her routine. The old Headwoman never did explain anything other than what her orders were, and she'd told Hanna to keep resupplying the healers out in the Weyr and to make their patients in the infirmary as comfortable as she could, so that was what Hanna did.

She was surprised when the pretty little candidate Gilda had recruited to help the healers came back in. 'Hanna, I really need to see Gilda, and I think maybe she finally decided to get some sleep. Where's her room?'

'Turn left out of this door, then left again, and it's second on the right. But Meliana!' Hanna raised her voice after the disappearing girl. 'If she's finally taking some rest, don't wake her!'

The girl had already vanished. Hanna frowned, wondering whether to go after her, but then the woman lying in the bed beside her opened her eyes, struggling to sit up, and Hanna turned to reassure her and persuade her to lie down again and rest.

* * *

Melly paused outside the heavy hide curtain that screened the entrance to Gilda's room. Suddenly it seemed like a bad idea to hunt for the Headwoman like this.

'Gilda?' she called quietly.

There was no answer. Melly gathered her courage together and lifted the corner of the hide. Glowlight spilled out through the opening. The girl frowned. She was sure Gilda was the kind of methodical person who would flip the lid of her glowbasket closed when she left her room.

She ducked through the doorway and nearly screamed.

For a second Melly was sure that her heart stopped beating. The Headwoman's frail old form was crumpled on the hard rock floor at her feet.

Perhaps she slipped and fell, Melly thought desperately, dropping to her knees to feel frantically for Gilda's pulse. She found it almost at once, fluttering and racing in the old woman's wrist. She breathed a sigh of relief, and remembered to run a hand along Gilda's arms and legs, checking her old and frail bones. If Gilda had fallen – if that was all that was wrong – then she'd have flung out a hand to save herself, and if she was badly hurt it would most likely be with a broken wrist.

Nothing seemed damaged. Melly looked frantically around. Help was some distance away – with the already overworked women in the infirmary – but Gilda's bed lay only a few feet away. If she could just…

Melly crouched down beside the headwoman, slipping Gilda's limp arm around her own neck, and cautiously lifted her, taking the weight on her shoulders and staggering the few steps to the bed. She put Gilda down as carefully as possible. Gilda was tiny, but so was Melly, and the Headwoman's limp and floppy form seemed heavier than the girl would have thought possible.

Gilda's eyes flickered open as Melly laid her down. 'Sharding thing,' the Headwoman muttered, beginning to pull herself up.

'Lie still,' said Melly, as commandingly as she could. 'What happened? Did you fall?'

Gilda's eyes focused on the girl, and the old Headwoman gave a crooked smile. 'You know better than that.'

Melly swallowed; it was true, she did. She could see the sweat beading on the old Headwoman's forehead even in the cool of the Lower Caverns, and she was intimately acquainted with the dizziness and fainting that accompanied the early stages of the plague. 'You're sick.'

'Yes.' Gilda shifted restlessly, and Melly automatically reached out to adjust the hard pillows behind her head for the maximum comfort.

'Can I get you a drink? I'll tell Hanna…' She half rose.

'Wait!' Gilda's voice had weakened, but she still had enough bite to stop Melly in her tracks. She sat down again to listen to what the Headwoman had to say.

Gilda again gave that little glint of a smile. 'Practical, you are. That's what I like about you. Not like that girl of mine, my Lystar. Too emotional. Worries about things. Gets it from her father – certainly never had it from her mother or me. Not you. You know when it's time to put aside your own feelings.'

Melly wriggled uncomfortably. 'Gilda…'

'You stay put, girl. I've got things I want to say to you. I heard you burbling about that map of mine the other day. Didn't pay any attention to you at the time, because I've long since stopped listening to silly youngsters, but what was it you were trying to say?'

'The map!' Melly had almost forgotten. 'Gilda, I'm sure we can use it to follow the progress of the plague. Not just in terms of individual cases – what we're using it for – but to show us how it spreads, how it's contracted. But I can't read the names on it, and I don't know enough about the Weyr to see where the links are. I needed – I was coming to ask you –'

'Slow down, girl.' The Headwoman looked up at Melly with bright eyes almost hidden in the deep folds of her face. 'I'm on my way out. I can't help you now. But Lystar, she'll know. There's no one in this Weyr Lystar doesn't know as well as they know themselves.'

'Gilda, Lystar's sick,' Melly said, gently. 'Pretty bad…'

'Pah! You underestimate her. All of you. That Harper, and that K'beth, worrying themselves to an early grave. Lystar and her great blue monster have lived through threadscore that'd kill anyone else. They're the toughest couple in the Weyr. It'll take more than some plague to finish them off, you mark my words.'

Melly could see that the old woman was tiring herself out with her vehemence. 'All right. Thank you. I'll ask Lystar. Now I have to go and tell Hanna you've… you're…'

'I'm dying,' said Gilda, bluntly. 'Don't mince your words. I'm too old to fight this.'

'But what about everyone else?' Melly couldn't help herself asking. 'Gilda, they need you – you're the only hope to find a cure for the plague!'

Gilda snorted impatiently. 'No, I'm not. You are, girl.'

'What?' Melly froze.

'Said it before, and I'll say it again… no point in getting a healer in here just to get sick. They didn't learn a thing at Keroon, nothing they can do for us. We've got our own brains, here at Ista.' The old Headwoman fixed Melly with her shrewd eyes. 'It's you that map's talking to, girl, not me. You and Lystar, but mostly you. I'm charging you, girl – find out how it spreads. Stop it. Then find a cure, or if you can't then nurse the Weyr through it until this plague burns itself out. It will. Everything finishes in the end, no matter how terrible it seems at the time. You won't see that yet, girl, you've got to be old…'

Gilda's voice trailed off, and Melly could see that the old woman was drifting away again into sleep. The girl stared down at the frail old shape in the bed, her fists clenching. It was frightening how quickly the old woman had reached exhaustion point; the young and riders who had fallen sick had been almost normal for a day or so, bar the nausea and the sweating.

Standing in the steady glowlight, Melly felt desperately alone.

* * *

Jarrin wondered if he should call K'beth. Lystar was too quiet; too still. Even that morning, when K'beth had left to take both dragons to the lake and the feeding grounds, Lystar had been able to wake up, to talk and even smile, though her voice had been no more than a thin whisper. Now she lay absolutely still, silent and insensible, already looking like a dead thing, a shrivelled corpse. Whenever Jarrin looked at her he felt as though great hands were squeezing and wrenching at his gut. Only the fluttering and erratic pulse in Lystar's neck told him that she was still there at all.

Jarrin wrestled with his conscience. When he looked at the bluerider, he felt as shaky and sick as if he himself had the plague. He knew that Lystar was reaching a desperate place. He knew that K'beth would want to be there. But he couldn't leave Lystar. Not like this.

And somewhere, selfishly, Jarrin felt that if Lystar were to… if this was the last… if… well, if the worst were to happen, then _he_ wanted to be with her at the end. Not K'beth, who let himself be persuaded away from Lystar's side. Him.

The Harper clenched his fists. K'beth was his friend, he reminded himself. He'd known K'beth before he ever met Lystar. He couldn't do that to the greenrider – he couldn't _not_ warn him.

He climbed to his feet without ever taking his eyes off Lystar's skeletal face. He could step outside onto the weyr ledge, at least. Maybe someone would be there – a dragonrider who could contact K'beth via Rosith, or at least a healer who could run for help. That way he wouldn't have to leave Lystar.

Casting glances back at the still figure on the bed, Jarrin crossed the empty outer room of Lystar and K'beth's weyr.

When he stepped out into Ista's incongruously bright and dazzling sunshine, he saw Melly, her face white and set, coming towards him like the answer to a prayer.

'Melly, quick!' He took the girl's arm and pulled her inside the outer room of the weyr. 'Lystar hasn't woken up. She just lies there. I think… maybe someone should get K'beth.'

He saw the muscle move in Melly's throat as she swallowed. She was clutching a roll of dried hide, he saw. 'I'm going to wake her.' The dark girl's voice was quiet but determined. 'I need her help. The Weyr needs her help. Before…'

'You're going to wake her up?' Jarrin asked, suddenly uncertain. 'I guess if you think it's best… and it'd be a relief to see her awake… but are you sure it's the right thing? Gilda told us she should sleep if she wanted to…'

Melly bit her lip. 'It may not be the right thing for Lystar,' she admitted, 'but it's the right thing for the Weyr.'

'Melly!' Jarrin let go of her arm, and took a step backwards. 'How can you…? Doesn't Lystar matter to you?'

'She does,' Melly whispered. 'But I have to… sometimes you have to put aside your own feelings. She's the only one who can help me. I need her knowledge of the Weyr. I need her to save the Weyr.'

'Ask Gilda,' Jarrin said. He was standing in the doorway through to Lystar's room now, as though he would protect the bluerider from Melly. 'She knows everything about the Weyr. I won't let you hurt Lystar, Melly. I can't lose her!'

Melly caught the hoarse, pain-filled tone of his voice and looked up, full of a sudden suspicion, to meet the Harper's eyes.

'I can't ask Gilda,' she whispered. 'She's dying.'

Jarrin's eyes, like windows into a tortured soul, told her everything she needed to know. 'So is Lystar.'


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: Sorry I've been so long updating – you know how it is, sometimes life just gets in the way… Anyway, here it is and I'll try to make the next one faster. **

* * *

As Lystar gradually surfaced from the blackness, she was aware of relief. Somewhere… something… the pain had gone. Or lessened.

A large, warm hand was holding hers. Lystar could feel the calluses left by a dragon's harness, making little hard patches at the base of the fingers. She squeezed it slightly without opening her eyes.

_Cal? Are you there?_

_I will always be here_, Caliath's reassuring voice reached her, reminding his rider of other dark times when she had needed her dragon's comfort. _It is good that you are awake_.

_Cal, I think I'm getting better_.

Lystar felt hot tears of relief squeezing out from under her eyelids and opened her eyes. 'K'beth,' she whispered.

His thin, handsome face was looming over her. Lystar blinked her tears away and looked up at her weyrmate. She could see the bags under his eyes, and his own eyes were suspiciously bright.

The bluerider giggled weakly, and reached up to try and brush K'beth's tears away. Her hand was thin and clawlike, and Lystar fought to control it, slightly puzzled. Surely she hadn't been ill _that_ long? She remembered the meeting – she had talked to the drudges and Marti had talked to the Weyr – and Caliath had been upset – and she remembered fragments after that – she'd slept and woken, and her friends had been there – but it was like a dream. It couldn't have been more than a couple of days she'd been ill, surely?

_It is five_, Caliath told her. _And you were awake for some of it_. He projected a few pictures of Lystar – sitting up and talking to K'beth, drinking a beaker of water, being helped to the privy.

Lystar blinked, suddenly a little afraid. How had she lost five days of time? She remembered the things Caliath was showing her only in the most vague way.

'Lystar?' K'beth asked. His voice was thick and heavy, barely above a whisper, and his hand had tightened on hers.

'I'm going to be better, K'beth,' she whispered back. 'I know I am.'

K'beth wanted to say something, but he only seemed capable of an enormous, silly smile. He squeezed Lystar's hand between both of his, and tried to swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

* * *

Jarrin was watching with a desperate and painful hope when he felt a firm tug on his arm. He glanced at Melly, annoyed, but the dark girl ignored that and dragged him out onto the weyr ledge. Standing in the blazing sunshine and muggy heat of the Weyr bowl, she turned her huge and devastatingly candid brown eyes on the Harper.

'There's no point in pretending that they want either of us in there,' she said, quietly.

Jarrin grabbed her arm. 'Is it true?' he demanded, urgently. 'Is she really going to recover?'

Melly smiled, not attempting to conceal her own excitement and happiness. 'I think so! I really think… we've never had anyone feeling better before they die, so I think if Lystar feels better, then she probably really is. I knew, if that helps. I woke up and thought "I'm better", and I was.'

'Then it's true.' Jarrin flung his head up to drink in the sunlight. 'She really is better. And now… whatever happens, whoever gets sick, whoever dies, it's not going to be Lystar.'

'I'm going to go down to the kitchens and get them to send some food up,' Melly said. 'Lystar really ought to eat and drink a lot – she needs to try and recover her weight. I'll see you around, Jarrin…'

'Right!' Jarrin smiled, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he tried to contain the joy rising in the pit of his belly. Then he too set off down into the Weyr.

* * *

'Lystar's well again!'

Marti raised her head in surprise. She couldn't have heard wrongly, surely? The young queenrider ran to the doorway. 'B'san!'

The young bluerider, who had been hurtling down the corridor, shouting to a friend somewhere ahead, almost overbalanced as he spun on his heel. 'I'm sorry, goldrider,' he began, but Marti cut him off.

'Never mind that – is it true?'

'What?'

'Lystar! Is she really better?'

B'san grinned. 'Yes! That's what the Harper's been saying, anyway. He swears it's true.'

'If Jarrin says it then I'm sure it is…' Marti trailed off. _Did you hear that, Amerenth? Lystar's… I suppose she can hardly be well again yet, but definitely recovering!_

_This is so_, Amerenth told her. _Caliath is shouting this news to anybody in the Weyr who will listen_.

_Does Shareth know, dear one?_ asked Marti, struck by a sudden thought. _And Aneth?_

_They know_.

_Good. In that case, I'm going up to see how Lystar really is_.

* * *

Lystar's getting better. R'lan hugged the thought to himself. My Lystar.

He'd been down to visit her that morning, but she had still been wrapped in that deathly-pale sleep. And he hadn't been with her as much as he should; he'd had to stay with Reia…

If Lystar had died, R'lan would have regretted all the rest of his life that he'd never been a good father to her. He should have sat with her more, and helped her when she was awake, spoken to her. She was his, dear to him, his daughter, and he had always failed her.

But Reia was his too. Reia needed him too. R'lan frowned and shook his head, trying to dislodge the morbid thoughts which the close air of the sickroom forced into his head. His legs ached, that was the problem. Aneth's wings were restless. They needed to fly, and they were confined to the ground. With no drills to fly, with no threadfall to plan, what could they do but sit and brood?

R'lan looked over at Reia's pale, shrunken face, and took a deep, shuddering breath. He was afraid, and he was helpless. His Weyr was in danger, but what could he do? He could sear thread from the air; he could defend Pern from its most relentless enemy; but here and now, tied to the ground, trapped by fretting and indecision, he and Aneth couldn't even protect their own.

But Lystar was getting better. R'lan thought it again, and it was like a breath of fresh air, like feeling the wind under Aneth's wings. Even if Reia died, the sure solid centre of his life, even if he himself found in the plague an enemy that he couldn't fight, still Lystar had defeated it. Lystar would carry on. His Lystar. His daughter.

R'lan smiled, broadly, and blinked away sudden tears.

* * *

K'beth was half-prepared for the sudden rush of visitors, but he was surprised by how fast they came pouring in. Dragonriders, candidates and the Lower Cavern women, young and old, every few minutes he would hear the tentative footsteps of someone making their way inwards to see if it was true; if Lystar was recovering.

Some left after getting that fragile reassurance; some had sick friends or relatives to care for; but many more stayed on, smiling fit to burst, so that by the time Melly reappeared, carrying a large tray of meatrolls and redfruit there was something of a party atmosphere in Lystar and K'beth's weyr. Lystar was still lying in bed, with K'beth hovering protectively beside her and holding her hand as though afraid that she might still slip away from him, but they were talking animatedly with the group of people who were surrounding them, and chatting away in an unrestrained manner that Melly hadn't heard in days; she hadn't felt that kind of relaxation and freedom from fear since before the plague had struck.

'Excuse me,' she muttered, putting her tray down beside Lystar, and turning to leave rapidly, using her elbows to help herself fight through the crowd. 'Excuse me!' She bolted out through the outer room of the weyr and stopped on the narrow ledge, taking deep breaths and shivering despite the stifling air.

That was hope; she'd seen the way those people's eyes looked at her. Lystar's getting better, they'd been thinking. That means other people will get better too, doesn't it? Our friends, our families, us if we get sick. We'll get better, won't we? Won't we?

And Melly felt that sudden hope as a tombstone pressure weighing her down. She could still hear Gilda's voice. 'I'm charging you, girl – find out how it spreads. Stop it.' How could she? What could she possibly do?

Then she bit her lip and straightened her back. Meliana, she scolded herself. This isn't helping anybody. Go back down to the infirmary, that's the thing to do. Look at the map. Help Hanna. Go and see Gilda. Do what you can.

* * *

When Lystar began to look tired, K'beth quietly got rid of all her visitors. 'You're not better yet,' he reminded her. 'You need to get some sleep.'

'I suppose so,' Lystar said, reluctantly. 'But I really feel a lot better, K'beth.' She poured herself a beaker of water, and sipped it slowly. 'I'm still really thirsty and I feel a bit weak, but my stomach barely hurts at all.'

'You go to sleep,' K'beth said. 'I'll stay with you.'

Lystar smiled at him, yawning. 'You win. I'll get some rest. But you don't have to stay, K'beth. When did you last eat anything? How about Rosith?'

'She's all right.' _Aren't you, love?_

_Yes. But _you_ need to eat and sleep_, Rosith scolded him. _Nobody can fly properly if they don't eat enough_.

K'beth looked down at Lystar, who had already fallen asleep. Without her animation and her encouraging talk, her face still looked shrivelled and skeletal. But she _was_ so much better. It wouldn't hurt to leave her, just for a little while.

K'beth touched her cheek with a gentle finger. He wasn't happy yet. The fragile, hollow feeling in his chest had been so strong that its disappearance had left him shaky and uncertain. But he thought that he might eventually begin to regain his equilibrium.

He smiled and walked swiftly out of the weyr.

* * *

It was early evening when Lystar woke. The steady glowlight gave her no indication of time, but she could usually pick up from Caliath information about time of day, temperature, weather. The big blue had left the outer room of the weyr for the first time in days, and he was perched on the rim of the Weyr bowl, sunning himself in the strong golden evening light.

She was alone. _Do you know where K'beth is, Cal?_

_With Rosith. Asleep_.

_How about the others? Where's Jarrin, Melly? How about R'lan and Reia?_

Caliath sounded amused. _How would I know?_

_You're useless, Cal_, Lystar said, good-humouredly. _I'm going to look for them. I know where Gilda will be, at least – the infirmary. Melly might be there too_.

Caliath rumbled deep in his chest. _Are you sure that's a good idea? You're not very strong yet_.

_I'm sure. Stop acting like a mother wherry and come and give me a lift down. Save my legs on the stairs_.

Even as she spoke, Lystar was sitting up and swinging her legs out of bed. Her head whirled for a minute and she clutched the wall, trying hard to stay upright on unsteady legs.

When her mind cleared and her balance returned, Lystar set out across the Weyr. She could feel her knees shaking, but her legs held her up. Bits of her body seemed to not quite be where she thought they were – it reminded Lystar unpleasantly of the time when she'd first impressed Caliath, when she hadn't been able to run across a rough floor without stumbling – but she didn't feel too tired. Although it did seem rather more effort than normal to walk the few steps across to the outer room of the weyr…

_I'm not sure I can climb up, Cal_, she confessed, when she finally arrived out on the ledge. She blinked furiously, and took a few deep breaths. It was the first time she'd been outside in far too long, and even the tropical heat seemed like a relief. She felt better just for being out.

_You should be in bed_.

_No. Catch me_. It was a common manoeuvre when they were in a hurry. Lystar stepped off the ledge into nothingness, and Caliath swung his bulk around to catch her, breaking her fall.

Lystar felt her body settle into a comfortable riding position, and smiled, wrapping her arms around Caliath's neck. _At least this I haven't forgotten. I _am _glad to see you, Cal_.

* * *

Caliath – after one further attempt to persuade her to return to bed – had left Lystar by the entrance to the Lower Caverns, and she made her way stubbornly down the tunnel, leaning on the wall for support and gritting her teeth against the burning ache that told her her muscles had been weakened by her sickness.

_You insisted you had to get up_, Caliath reminded her, unsympathetically. _Don't blame me_.

_I'll be back to flying fitness within a week_, she promised. _You see_ _if I'm not._

_No takers_, Caliath said, and a hint of smugness crept into his voice. _We are tough_.

_We are_, Lystar agreed, laughing, as she swung round the corner into the main hall.

The first thing she noticed was the chaos. The hall and nearby infirmary were the hub of the Weyr's activity at the moment, but the women usually moved backwards and forwards between infirmary, kitchens, stores and sometimes the passages to the outside with a purpose. Now Lystar could see them milling around, as if confused and uncertain.

'What's going on?' Lystar plucked the sleeve of the closest woman. 'Jiessa, what's happened here?'

'What – oh, Lystar!' Jiessa spoke loudly enough for everyone in the hall to turn around. 'Lystar, I… you should go through…'

'I don't look that bad, do I?' Lystar asked, weakly, trying to make a job. Jiessa had taken a few steps back and was staring at her as if she'd grown an extra head.

She wasn't the only one. When Lystar looked around, the nine or ten women in the room were watching her as if she might any minute vanish or attack them. One or two were looking guiltily at the floor. 'Seriously, what?'

'Um…' Jiessa cleared her throat. 'Really, you should come and talk to Hanna.'

Lystar frowned. 'All right.' The women shadowed her, at a distance, as she walked through the passageway. Her legs were still shaking, but even when she stumbled no one came forwards to help her.

Lystar walked into the infirmary and into the centre of a gathering hush. All around her, people were backing up until she ended up in the middle of a circle of people, either watching her anxiously or pointedly not looking in her direction. Lystar swallowed. Her heart seemed to be fluttering in her chest, beating unusually fast. 'All right, please, I'm really worried now. _What's wrong?_' The infirmary also had the air of purposelessness, of flapping around at a loose end.

'What's going on in here?' The clear voice came from the back of the room, and the crowd parted in front of a determined small figure. 'We've got to carry on.'

'Melly, what's going on?' Lystar asked. 'Where's Gilda?'

'Lystar!' Melly's eyes widened, and she swallowed, glancing around. 'I see. Lystar – I'm sorry - I - Gilda's dead.'


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

Lystar walked slowly and steadily down the narrow stone staircase. The cascade had dried up again to a thin trickle, a glistening wet streak on the rock rather than a stream, and the worn steps were dry and dusty. Physically, she was almost better. She'd eaten and slept a lot over the past two days, and already she could feel that she was stronger.

Mentally, she was still bracing herself. She knew that she'd barely begun to assimilate the damage to the Weyr – the damage to her friends, both living and dead. Maybe it was too early for her to try and figure out exactly what was going on. It was still hard to believe that Gilda wouldn't come round the corner, scolding furiously.

Lystar stopped, steadied herself, and shut her eyes for a minute. She was tired.

_But she was better_. In the whole Weyr, full of people who were in fear of their lives, she was free of the fear. It gave her a link with Melly, and she knew, now, why the little dark candidate felt driven to do all that she could for the sufferers. She knew, too, what was her duty. The candidates. While she was sick, had anyone remembered that G'zul was dead and that those fifty-three – well, forty-eight healthy, the last thing she knew – young people would be confused, scared, and alienated? She'd seen them arrive, one by one, and taught them all, and tried to make them feel welcome. She _cared_ about them. So she approached the candidate barracks with some trepidation.

The candidates slept in two rooms, boys on one side of the corridor, and a smaller room for the girls on the other side. Normally they would have been busy with lessons and chores and have spent barely any time in the rooms, and Lystar didn't really know whether she would find any of them there today, but it was a place to start looking.

She hooked aside the heavy curtain in the girl's doorway first. Three girls were sitting inside, one braiding another's hair with hands that shook, and the third perched on the edge of her bed, chewing nervously at ragged nails.

She was the first to notice the bluerider's entrance. 'Lystar!'

'Hey there, Jory. Where's everyone else?'

'Sick.' The answer was concise and gloomy. Lystar could hear the taut fear in the younger girl's voice.

'I knew about Ranna, of course. Yevessa and Senna both have the plague?'

'Yeah.' The girl who had been having her long black hair braided shook off her friend's hands and sat up straighter to explain. 'Ranna's dead. So's Yevessa. She was working down in the infirmary, but she got sick really fast. None of us helps out there now.'

'Yes, they do, that weird girl, Meliana, she does,' pointed out mousy-haired Jory. '_She's_ not sick, Kindra.'

'Nor are we,' Kindra told her. 'Yet.'

'What's weird about Melly?' Lystar asked. She wasn't sure whether she was reassured or horrified by the girls' attitudes. They haven't been here long, she reminded herself. They don't really know anyone very well, so it's sad when people die, but it's not heartbreaking. They're all right. Compared to a lot of people, they're all right.

At the same, time, something in her was protesting against the girls' matter-of-fact approach. _People are dead! How can they not care? Is the only thing for them their own safety?_

_People are dead, but they are alive_, said Caliath. _We are alive. Be happy_.

Lystar sighed mentally. _I am happy about that, I suppose. But I can't stop thinking… Gilda brought me up from when I was small. She taught me to read and write and cook, and whacked me when I got caught stealing food and… all right, _didn't_ comfort me when I was upset, but that was just the way she was, she always pretended that she didn't care. And those two – Yevessa, she always thought she knew best, always happy to argue and Ranna told me how much she missed her home and her baby brother, and… they're gone. They're just… gone. I don't know how anyone can just think… that things will carry on the way they were before. Things will never be the same again, because _they're gone_. Don't you see?_

_No_, said Caliath, frankly. _People and dragons go _between_. They have always gone _between_, they will always go _between_. New people come out of the egg. The Weyr still fights thread. That is what matters_.

Lystar gave up on trying to explain, and listened instead to Kindra, who was answering her question. 'Meliana _is_ weird. She never says anything, and she looks at you like she's considering whether you're worth listening to. She doesn't have any friends, and she doesn't seem to care. She just seems really cold. It's like she thinks she's better than us, although I can't see why, since she comes from some obscure hold in the middle of nowhere.'

'Not like she thinks she's better than us,' Jory corrected. 'Just like she's not living in the same world.'

Lystar shook her head. _I guess that _is_ what I thought about Melly in the beginning_, she admitted. Out loud, she said. 'Are you all right, though, for the time being?'

'Until we get sick, yes,' Kindra said, sourly.

'You might not. Gild – well, the Lower Cavern women – are working on a cure all the time, and they might find out how to stop it. Or you might get better – it happens, look at me. And – plagues don't last forever, remember.'

'Yeah.'

'You need something to do,' said Lystar. 'All of you. It'll take your mind off things. You don't have to work with the sick, but if you could help with stuff like cooking, cleaning, keeping the records up to date, then that would free up people who don't mind nursing to help out with that. I'm going over the corridor to see the boys, but then I'm going to go and find out what needs doing most. And you should be doing lessons – you're still candidates. Now I'm better, we'll see if we can't manage at least one class every couple of days.'

The three girls were looking at her incredulously. Jory gave her what looked like a genuine, if shaky grin. 'Lystar,' she said, 'I'm glad you're back.' Then her face fell. 'But you'll find the boys are in an even worse state than us. A lot more of them are sick.'

K'beth was surprised to find himself at something of a loose end. He knew where Lystar had gone – after she'd made it down to the Lower Caverns alone on the first day of her convalescence he'd had Rosith keep tags on her through Caliath until Melly had told him that the bluerider might get up again, and then he'd made her promise to let him know where she was all the time. He didn't even know why he was being so ridiculously over-protective, since she was so obviously almost herself again, except that he was still reeling from the conviction, just a few of days ago, that he might never see her again.

But even knowing where she was didn't help him now, since she didn't need or want his help when she was talking to the candidates. What were most people doing? He had spent the last few days – since the beginning of the quarantine time – watching anxiously at Lystar's bedside every minute that he wasn't eating, sleeping or caring for Rosith. What were most people doing with their time, with no thread drills and no wing drills?

K'beth drifted through the Weyr, feeling somehow empty. Maybe he should look for Jarrin, see if the Harper felt as useless as he did.

He wouldn't have found Jarrin if he had gone to look for him. The Journeyman was in the Weyr's main storeroom with a long inventory and a stick of charcoal. 'People've been taking stuff – food mostly, and healing supplies – whenever they needed it,' Marti had explained, when she left him there. 'Gilda always makes sure – Gilda always _used_ to make sure that everything went through her, so she always knew exactly what she had, but we've lost that now. We need to find out exactly how much of everything we've got, so we can resupply. Mark out the inventory roughly, and then we can check it over and ink it in later. No one understands Gilda's system. Just do the best you can.'

Then the young Weyrwoman had bustled off to deal with another problem. Jarrin remembered the time when he'd first looked at her and thought that she might be a force to be reckoned with. Now he wondered how he had ever failed to notice Marti's competence and organising talents. His feet kicked up little clouds of dust as he wandered down the room, marking out the inventory. The air smelled a little stale, but the cool of the deep caves was a wonderful relief on skin that had been out in the blazing tropical heat.

Marti herself was deep in a conversation with Melly.

'We need to try and get this Weyr back on track. At the moment – we're living this kind of half life. I know you have the infirmary under control, but down there it's like you're all living in this little bubble which isn't part of the same world. You know people stand back in the corridors to let the healing staff pass? It's like you have some kind of sacred mission. And meanwhile the rest of the Weyr are huddling in their weyrs and trying to believe that their friends – whether they're down with you people or out in the Weyr somewhere – will get better. This is just the ghost of a Weyr. We can't live this way!'

She could feel Amerenth shifting urgently and responding to her agitation. _Calm down, dear one_, she said, to herself as much as the dragon. Amerenth was the single bastion between the dragons of the Weyr and panic, she reminded herself, and Amerenth was relying on her.

'Sorry,' she said, more coolly. 'But you see what I mean. I don't even know how many people are sick any more!'

'I do,' said Melly. 'Well, I can find out.'

'You _do_? Amazing. Can you tell me who it is that's ill, too?'

'Yes. Come on down and see.'

'Excellent. I'm going to figure out who's sick, who's caring for those who are, and who's free to help out. Lystar's volunteered all of the candidates for kitchen duties, and she said she's going to send down a bunch of the weyrlings, too. Right now she's gone to see the drudges. A lot of them seem to have just vanished, and we don't know if they're sick or just scared. We've got to try and reinstate normal life. If everyone who isn't sick or involved in caring for the sick helps out around the Weyr then I reckon we can have regular mealtimes again. That's important – if we can gather everyone down here then it'll reduce the sense of isolation. And I'm hoping it'll reduce the fear, too. I don't know how many people are sick, but I know it's not anything like three quarters of the Weyr – that's the gossip that's going round. I don't want to ask Amerenth to cut the chattering that's going on because I think that _will_ make people feel that they're totally alone without much idea of what's going on, but it sure isn't helpful when dragons pass rumours along.'

Melly nodded silently and turned to go down to the infirmary. Marti followed her, frowning. Her mind was still running over all the things that needed to be done. She'd set Jarrin going in the storeroom, but they'd have to make a complete inventory. Maybe some of Lystar's candidates could help? Most of them could probably read and write.

And Meliana was another puzzle. The girl seemed totally incurious. She hadn't asked any questions or volunteered any information that the young queenrider hadn't asked about. She was a blank. And yet –

_She is closed up_, Amerenth rumbled in Marti's head. _But she is already more open than she was when she came_.

_Can't say I've noticed, dear one. But I'll take your word for it_.

_When she stops being afraid and opens up completely, she will ride a queen_.

– and yet, this little girl, smaller even than Marti herself, and slender, with an elfin prettiness, had taken charge when Gilda died. The fully grown women of the Weyr had meandered uncertainly when free of the old Headwoman's iron rule, but Meliana had kept the infirmary going.

And if she seemed unreadable and her competence was surprising – well, two sevendays ago, would Marti have known that she herself could run the Weyr?

Lystar had remembered to bring a thick bundle of fresh glows with her, and as she passed she slipped a new one into each glowbasket in place of the sickly, faded remnants so that she seemed to bring a trail of light with her into the depths of the Weyr.

There was no one around. Lystar had never felt threatened or vulnerable poking around in the Weyr's back corridors, but she was beginning to feel desperately nervous. _Cal, something's not right_.

She felt the mental flick of Caliath's acknowledgement, but her dragon made no comment. He had no useful advice to offer.

Then Lystar's quick ears caught a faint noise; it sounded like someone crying. _That's a baby. Benellin – Kalla!_

She hurried onwards. Where could she look for the drudge? The noises were faint, but through the thick cavern walls of the Weyr the sound couldn't actually be that far away, and as long as she continued to refill the glowbaskets on her path she couldn't get lost. She pushed aside a heavy hide curtain and stepped through into the drudges' sleeping quarters.

A rush of stale, stinking air blew into her face as she lifted the door covering. Lystar coughed, her eyes watering, and covered her nose with her sleeve. It smelt as though no one had botherd to try and clear up the vomit and sewage down here. Now she knew that at least some of the drudges were sick, if not dead. 'Kalla!'

There was no answer, but the baby's crying intensified. Lystar held up the bundle of shining glows, covering her mouth and nose with her other hand and stepped forwards carefully, stamping down on her impulse to throw up.

On the far side of the room there was a still figure lying on a pallet, half-concealed by dirty rags and shadows. An ominously still figure. Lystar's breath caught in her throat as she looked at it. At this distance, she couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman. For a second she wanted nothing more than to run away, out into the blinding sunshine and suffocating heat and to find K'beth and Caliath and pretend that nothing was wrong.

_Steady, little one_, Caliath rumbled, and Lystar took a deep breath, then coughed, her eyes streaming, as she got a lungful of the foul air.

It wasn't the effect she'd intended, but it shook of the paralysing fear. Biting her lip, Lystar gathered up all her courage and picked her way across the uneven floor to the still figure, then bent down and shook its shoulder.

As soon as she touched the body, she knew that it was dead. The figure rolled half onto its back, grinning up at her with skeletal features, and Lystar jumped back with a little scream. _Cal, oh Cal!_

Caliath was there in her head. _Hush, hush, little one. The dead cannot hurt you_.

_I know, I know_. Lystar waited for her racing heart to still. _It was just the shock_. After a minute she added. _I'm glad you're there, Cal_.

She looked back at the dead man. Now she had a chance to see more clearly, the face wasn't a skeleton at all; it was just the way the skin was shrunk and stretched over the bone that had made her think so for a moment. She knew the man; his name was Derrin, and he had used to be the person on duty in the kitchens if she dropped in there for a cup of klah after a late night watch duty.

Lystar stood in the dirty, dim-lit cavern, and blinked furiously, biting her lip to keep her composure.

Then Benellin wailed again, and she remembered her task. She'd come down to ascertain the extent of the damage to the drudges, and it was clear that those who weren't sick had hidden themselves away. Certainly, they wouldn't be helping to put the Weyr back onto its feet any time soon. She could go.

But somewhere, Kalla's son was crying, and that meant Kalla – well, she wouldn't let the boy cry like that. Not on and on, as if he would never stop. Not if she couldn't help it.

Very pale and upright, Lystar edged past Derrin's body and stepped through the next doorway.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: OK, here is a nice action-packed chapter for you. Sorry about the time I took to update - I can't promise that the next one will be any time soon either, but I'll do my best.**

* * *

R'lan took the narrow, treacherous stairs three at a time, then ran through the corridors and burst into the crowded infirmary. 'Who's in charge around here? Hanna?'

'Er – no, Weyrleader,' said the Headwoman's second, somewhat confused. 'Er, that is to say, Meliana knows more about what's going on than anyone else.'

'Who the shardin' hell is Meliana?' R'lan demanded.

The women looked at one another, and shrugged. 'Just some girl. Lystar'd know if anyone does,' someone volunteered. 'She and K'beth seem quite friendly with her.'

'That's not important right now,' R'lan said impatiently. 'Hanna, you're competent to come and see Reia, aren't you?'

'Oh, I don't know if I can leave here…' Hanna looked flustered. She liked to follow orders and routine, and the plague had shattered her serenity.

'Come on, woman,' R'lan ordered her. 'It won't take much of your time. She feels better, that's all, and I want to know if it's true. For Faranth's sake, come on!'

* * *

K'beth was waiting for his weyrmate in the Weyr bowl. It was another stiflingly hot day, and thunderclouds were building again in the western sky. K'beth groaned. Another storm, making it unpleasant and dangerous to try and move around the Weyr, was something that they could really do without at this point.

_What do you think, sweetheart? Going to rain?_

_Yes_, said Rosith, and he could hear the distaste in her voice. Although she enjoyed swimming, for some reason he'd never been able to understand Rosith couldn't stand the rain. _And this time I will _not_ wait out in it to take you home_, the green added sternly.

_Sorry, love. I'll try not to do it again_.

When Lystar finally emerged from the Lower Caverns looking drained and miserable and bent over something she cradled in her arms, he crossed over to her with swift, hurried strides.

'Lystar! Are you all right? You look – Lystar!' He saw the bundle in her arms shift and suddenly realised what it was. 'Whose baby is that?'

'Kalla's,' Lystar said. She sighed and leant against the greenrider, resting her head on K'beth's shoulder. 'He's called Benellin. Kalla's dead.'

'I'm sorry.' K'beth said, softly. He wrapped his arms around Lystar to support her, looking down at the child over her head. Benellin had a round, flushed face crowned with a tuft of fair hair, and he was dribbling slightly from the corner of an open mouth as he slept. 'What'll happen to him now?'

'I don't know.' Lystar turned round, shifting the baby into the crook of an arm, and buried her head in K'beth's tunic. 'It was awful. They're all dead. Hiding down there and just… I didn't even know!'

'Know what?' K'beth stroked her hair. 'Who, Lystar? You're not making sense.'

'The drudges,' Lystar whispered, so that K'beth had to bend his head to catch her voice. 'I didn't see any of them around today, so I went down to check on them. And I found… it stank. Vomit and sewage everywhere. And bodies.' She shuddered, and K'beth tightened his arms around her. After a minute Lystar looked up and carried on. 'I found Kalla, but she was dead too. Benellin was crying. I brought him out. I couldn't see anyone else alive…'

'I guess the drudges found it harder to fight,' K'beth said, quietly. 'They're not so strong and healthy to start with.'

Lystar nodded against his shoulder.

'What are you going to do now?'

'I'll take him up to the weyr and put him to bed. I fed him, so I think he'll probably sleep for a couple of hours now. Then… I really need to go and see the weyrlings. I think the candidates'll do until tomorrow. They'll have to! But I ought to organise a class of some kind, for tomorrow if not today.'

'Wait…' K'beth narrowed his eyes. 'Lystar, we can't keep Benellin. You _know_ dragonriders' children get fostered because they don't have time to care for them.'

'Yes, I know.' Lystar took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. 'I _will_ arrange for him to be fostered in the Lower Caverns. But I can't ask that of them now – they're worked off their feet already. So I think we have to look after him until this is over.'

'Lystar, _you're_ already too busy,' K'beth said. 'And you've been ill. Look at you. You're exhausted. You can't take on more responsibilities now.'

'Right,' said Lystar. She looked up, and K'beth saw a hint of a smile. 'So you can help.'

She pushed herself upright and dumped Benellin into the greenrider's arms.

'Whoa!' K'beth held the baby gingerly. 'Lystar, are you sure this is a good idea?'

Despite herself, Lystar giggled. 'Yep.' Then she turned serious again. 'K'beth, it's got to be. I've got to talk to a lot of people – even before I see the weyrlings, actually. Being worried about them wasn't the only reason I went down to see the drudges. Some of them are young – like Kalla, she's not – she wasn't – much older than us. I hoped some of them could stand.'

K'beth frowned again. 'As in – be candidates? Why? They're not Searched.'

Lystar shook her head tiredly. 'Do the maths. We had fifty-three candidates. That's not very many for thirty-seven eggs anyway! We'd have still been Searching this past sevenday if we hadn't been confined to the Weyr. Thirteen candidates are dead, which leaves us with only forty-one, and five of those are girls! Even if every single sick candidate gets well in time to stand at the Hatching, at least one girl has to Impress green just to make up the numbers. And did you ever hear of a Hatching going well when the dragonets had no choice?'

'Shards!' breathed K'beth. 'I didn't even think of that. What are you going to do? We've got to find some candidates from somewhere…'

'I'm going to talk to R'lan about that,' Lystar said. 'We can't bring candidates in – not unless a miracle occurs and Melly finds a cure for this before the Hatching – so I want to ask his permission to get every unImpressed person in this entire Weyr to stand. I want to drop the age restrictions. I know a lot of the weyrbrats are irresponsible, but better a rider who needs controlling than a dead dragonet. I want every child who's old enough to understand what's going on out there. That gives us about fifteen more. And if we let older people stand – if we let the Lower Caverns women – then we can have probably twenty of them. Which gives us enough. Hopefully. And they mostly were Searched, or they're the children of dragonriders, so it doesn't seem impossible that they might Impress. Does it?' She looked up at K'beth anxiously.

The greenrider was still reeling, but he pulled himself together to respond to the appeal in his weyrmate's eyes. 'No. I think it's a good idea, Lystar. I think it's the only thing you can do. But…' _How long until the Hatching, sweetheart?_

_Not long now. Perhaps a sevenday. Perhaps only five days. No more_.

K'beth shook his head, whistling softly between his teeth. 'But you're still cutting it fine. And Lystar – what about people who Impress, but then get sick? I think you are going to have to be prepared to lose some dragonets,' he said, gently.

Lystar pressed her lips together stubbornly. 'We've lost too many people and dragons already!'

She would have said more, but a keening screech cut off her words. Both riders winced, turning unhappy faces upwards to see a slender green dragon screaming her misery to the sky as she launched herself out of her weyr and into the emptiness _between_. In K'beth's arms the baby woke and began to cry.

'I can't… I wish there was something I could do!' Lystar said into the ringing silence that marked the abrupt cutting off of the dragon's grief, and burst into tears.

'Lystar.' Very cautiously, K'beth shifted Benellin into the crook of his arm as he'd seen Lystar do, gingerly rocking the crying baby. Then he reached out and took his weyrmate's hand. 'You are doing more than almost anyone else in the Weyr. Look at you. You're rushed off your feet, going from candidates to weyrlings to infirmary. You should take some time out, go swimming with Caliath or something, but I know you won't. You're doing everything that you can. For the rest – we can only trust Melly.'

Lystar nodded and sniffed. 'Yeah, I know. Yeah.'

* * *

'Lystar!' Melly caught sight of the older girl hurrying down a corridor, and dashed after her.

'What is it, Melly?' Lystar looked harassed, but she managed to dredge up a smile for the dark girl. 'I'm a bit busy…'

'This is more important,' Melly told her firmly. She took Lystar's arm and steered her back towards the infirmary. 'I need your help. I'm sure I could figure out how the plague spreads – even maybe a cure – but I just don't have enough knowledge of the Weyr and the people. I can't see the connections. But you might be able to. If you help me, maybe we can make the difference.'

'All right, this is more important,' Lystar agreed. 'What do you need?'

'Come in here,' said Melly, pushing her through a doorway into a little chamber beside the infirmary. There was almost nothing in the room except a stone table, and spread across its surface was the huge hide expanse of Gilda's map, now with so many different ink colours sprrawled across it that it had become almost unrecognisable.

Lystar looked at it in puzzlement. 'What's this, Melly?'

'A map,' Melly told her. 'Let me explain.'

* * *

Jarrin met Marti in the cavernous dining hall, and proferred his rough inventory. 'Here. I don't know very much about supplying a Weyr, but I reckon you need more fruit and juice. You seem to be all right for meat and fish, but it's mostly salted or dried. And you have no bread at all. What's left was rock-solid, so I ditched it. And fellis. I went round to the infirmary, but no one seems to know where Melly is, and she's the only one who might know how much they have there. But there's practically none left in the stores.'

Marti swore. 'All right, thanks, Jarrin. I'll… I don't know how we're going to get stores in! Maybe if they packed the stuff into watertight barrels they could drop it into the lake from dragonback for us to pick up? I'll get Amerenth to speak to Lumeth, see if Benden Weyr can organise some deliveries. But we're so indebted to Katriel and J'sor already…'

'I think this is a case when necessity is going to have to overcome pride,' Jarrin said, dryly.

'It is, of course,' said Marti, looking up at him. 'It's just that it was easier when Reia and Shareth carried the messages. They know Lumeth and Katriel so much better. Maybe I'll see if Reia feels well enough in the morning… how urgent do you think our food situation is?'

'We're not going to starve yet, but I think we shouldn't delay about arranging for the normal tithes to come in by some means.' Jarrin paused, and then said hopefully, 'Do I gather that Reia is –?'

Marti's strained face broke into a broad smile. 'Yes! She woke up today feeling better. I guess she might even be up tomorrow – think how quickly Lystar got back on her feet.'

'That's great news!' Jarrin meant it. He knew that Reia would be able to reclaim the Weyr from the sense of chaos into which it seemed to be sliding. And her recovery would presumably have a good effect on R'lan too, which would boost the mood of every fighting dragonrider. 'Although I wouldn't like to bet she'll be out of bed tomorrow,' he added cautiously. 'I mean, she's not as young as she was. And Lystar bounces back really fast. I shouldn't think that most people will match her recovery speed. But still – that's amazing! You should spread it around the Weyr. It'll make people feel better. Even if it wasn't Reia, it's still another person beaten the plague, isn't it?'

'Yes,' Marti agreed. 'Amerenth is spreading the word. They'll know down in the infirmary already. Hanna checked up on Reia to see if she's really better, and says she is.'

'I should go and tell Lystar. This is great news for her!'

'Oh!' Marti exclaimed. 'Speaking of Lystar – have you heard her latest idea? You're a candidate.'

'What? Me?' Jarrin drew in a startled breath. 'But I'm too old… I'm a harper… I'm a _candidate_? Really?'

Lystar did this for me, said a voice at the back of his mind. Jarrin gasped again, suddenly dazzlingly happy. Lystar did this for me! She must have fought the Weyrleaders, bent the rules – it meant that much to her to see me as a candidate? She does… maybe this means… oh, I know she cares about me as a friend, but _this?_ This is special…

'Yeah, you,' Marti assured him, smiling at his shock. 'Too many candidates have died. Everyone in the Weyr who's not Impressed is going to stand.'

'Oh.'

'What?' Marti asked swiftly, concerned. She'd seen the sudden light in his eyes, and its eclipse. 'Did I –?'

'No.' Jarrin forced himself to speak; his lips seemed suddenly heavy and unwilling to move. 'No, it's me, I… I'll see you around, Marti…' He turned and hurried away, out into the Weyr's corridors. Once he'd rounded a corner he stopped and sagged against the wall. You fool! he thought savagely at himself. Of course Lystar didn't mean anything. She needs more candidates – she's being sensible. She's got to deal with the situation in front of her. As I thought I had decided to do…'

Almost choking on the huge and bitter lump in his throat, Jarrin forced himself upright, straightening his shoulders, and deliberately walked away.

* * *

'V'dar, H'men, N'don, N'kir, I'den, T'mok, B'farl, E'let, V'shan, F'nat, Astarra, Caden,' Lystar said wearily, reading the twelve black names off the map again as if saying them out loud would make their connection obvious to her. 'Some of them… I mean, E'let, N'don and N'kir are in the same wing. H'men's in – I mean he was in – V'dar's wing, and so're F'nat, I'den and T'mok. But there's nothing that connects them all as a group! B'farl and N'don hate each other, anyway. Why would they hang around the same people to both catch the sickness? And what's a candidate doing in there?'

'I don't think it's passed on by human contact,' Melly said, firmly. 'It's too random. I wondered if it was locational. But again – why a candidate? Why a Lower Caverns woman?'

'Wait…' Lystar frowned, and pulled the map towards her again. 'Doesn't F'sennen have a weyr there somewhere? Yes, look, right by H'men, two down from V'dar.' She looked sadly at the red-inked and crossed out name that was written in the weyr she indicated.

'And that's relevant because…?' Melly asked.

'Oh – he and Astarra were together,' Lystar said. 'So she had a reason to be over there all the time. If that helps?'

'It might do.' Melly too looked down at the map with renewed interest. 'So how about… who's this, Lystar?' She pointed at one of the black names – the only one written inside a weyr a considerable distance from the other cluster.

'V'shan,' said Lystar, glancing at the indicated spot. 'V'dar's half-brother.'

'What? Lystar, why didn't you tell me?' Melly yelped. 'So he had a reason to be over near V'dar's weyr too, if he was visiting his brother! It's the location, it has to be. What about Caden?'

'He ran a message up there for G'zul!' Lystar remembered. 'Someone on the top level. He complained how far he had to climb in the heat.'

'It _is_ the location,' Melly repeated. 'But what about it?' Her eyes frantically searched the map. 'Different levels, different people… what about it is the same?'

'I don't know.' Lystar swallowed. 'It seemed like we were so close…'

'We _are_,' said Melly fiercely. 'Come on! Let's go and take a look. We might be able to see something out there – something that matters.'

'Right.'

But almost nothing was visible when they finally emerged into the Weyr bowl. Huge drak clouds had covered the sun and the heavy, sultry air pressed down on their lungs. Almost as soon as the two girls stepped out of cover the first drops of rain fell.

'Come on!' said Lystar. 'This is going to get nasty. We have to get inside.' She set off across the open space at a run as the sheeting rain began to fall in earnest, pounding into the dry and dusty ground. Melly followed.

'At least the cascade'll fill up again,' Lystar called over her shoulder.

'Uh-huh.' Melly concentrated on keeping up with the longer-legged bluerider. She remembered what a blessing the cascade had become in the aftermath of the previous storm; everyone had been glad to drink from it after toiling up the Weyr's endless narrow stairways. That had been way back; back at the start of this nightmare that now seemed to be all there was left.

'I'll get Cal to pick us up!' called Lystar. 'The stairs are too dangerous, the cascade'll be overflowing.'

She had reached the far side of the bowl and the blue dragon was sweeping down towards her through the driving rain before she realised that Melly was no longer following her.

Lystar turned and looked for the candidate. Melly had stopped in the centre of the bowl, not caring that the rain was sheeting down over her, plastering her hair and clothes to her body and pounding against her face. She was staring at the staircase with an intent, urgent expression, and her lips were moving frantically as she tried to explain her own sudden realisation to herself.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: So my exams are FINALLY over, and I can get back to stuff I enjoy! I'm very happy, so this is going to be a celebratory chapter… actually that's a lie, this was always going to be a celebratory chapter because of where we've got to in the story, but whatever. It's kind of nice anyway. And please review - constructive criticism welcomed!**

* * *

'None at all?' Marti asked, turning her startled gaze away from the supply drop she was supervising and onto Melly. 'Really?' A smile spread slowly across her face.

'None,' Melly assured her, and stifled a yawn. A colossal splash sounded behind them, and the two girls were showered with water; Marti jumped back to face the lake and Amerenth beside them stretched up her sinuous golden neck, hissing in protest at the carelessness of the blue dragon making the drop. His rider raised a hand in apology as he soared away; already Ista dragons were swarming out into the water to retrieve the barrel.

'That's almost the last of this lot,' Marti said. 'I think there's two more water barrels to come in. And it has helped, hasn't it - no new cases today! You're a genius, Melly.'

The little dark candidate shrugged. 'It was quite obvious once the pattern of infection was clear. All the early cases centred around the cascade, and the mass infection didn't begin until after the storm, which overflowed the cascade and must have swept the infection down into the Weyr's other water supplies. Even the lake, maybe.'

Marti looked at her curiously. 'You didn't worry at all? It's been almost a sevenday since you stopped us drinking the water, and it looked for a bit as though there was no difference. Weren't you scared you'd got it wrong and it was all for no reason?'

Melly frowned. 'No, why? The facts were absolutely clear.'

Marti laughed and shook her head. 'That's not what I meant. But I can see you didn't. Be careful there! Clear the water!' Her last comment was addressed to a young green dragon who had been left behind in the centre of the lake by the group who had swum out to collect the previous barrel. 'The last thing we need is for some silly green to have her back broken by a falling barrel.' _Amerenth, dear one, could you insist that no more than two or three dragons go out each time? I know they only want to help, but they're just getting in each other's way_.

_I will make them behave_, said Amerenth, turning her head to fix the group of dragons at the waters edge with her glittering stare. _Do you like Meliana yet?_

_I can see you do_, Marti said, smiling. _I don't dislike her, Amerenth, but I don't understand her. She seems to have no nerves! I can see what Jarrin meant_.

_About what?_

_He said he feels bad because she's doing all these great things for us; shards, she's saved the Weyr! But he can't like her; she's too cold_.

The final barrel splashed into the water, and Marti raised a hand in thanks and smiled at J'sor where he and Gedenth circled gently above. Benden's Weyrleaders had fallen into the habit of making the final drop themselves, either J'sor and Gedenth or Katriel and Lumeth. Now Marti said silently, _Thank him, dear one. And I think that you should tell him that there's no new cases of the sickness this morning; he'd probably like to hear that, and I know he'll let the right people know_.

_I'll tell him, but Gedenth is talking to Shareth, so his rider probably already knows_.

_And how's Aneth?_

_Panicking_, said Amerenth, and Melly heard the hint of dryness in her queen's voice. _This is why Gedenth has gone to Shareth for news_.

_And how - wait, there's someone much better to ask right here_. 'Melly, how's R'lan?'

'Fine.' The little candidate glanced involuntarily back towards the Weyr bowl and the Weyrleaders' weyr, but said reassuringly. 'I think the clean water is helping those people who already have the sickness too. Those who are really sick, well, they're still… but a lot of the new cases and the less serious have picked up recently. We've got seventeen people who've made a complete recovery in the last five days, and nearly thirty more who are starting to look as though hope might be justified. R'lan only got sick recently, and although I admit it might be a bit early to say for sure, I think he's going to pull through it absolutely fine. I don't think he's going to be nearly as ill as Reia was.'

'That's good news.' Marti ran a hand through her short thick hair and smiled. 'That's great news. And we're sure we know how it spread; there won't be any new cases now!'

'One or two,' Melly corrected. 'Incubation varies depending on the initial health and fitness of the person… and there might still be some people with symptoms who haven't let us know.'

'But basically…' Marti drifted off. 'Melly, this is important. If some people were to come to the Weyr now - if they absolutely drank only the barrelled water - could it be done?'

Melly raised an eyebrow. 'No,' she said firmly. 'It'd probably be fine, but we need to finish the quarantine properly. I don't know how long the Healer Hall would advise, but I think we'd want three or four sevendays after the last reported case.'

'But the Hatching will be any day now! It's those candidates, Melly. We can't go and Search, I see that, we haven't got time anyway, but we could ask the other Weyrs if there're any candidates or children of the right age who'd risk this sickness in order to stand. We couldn't have asked them a sevenday ago, but now… with the likelihood being that they won't catch it…'

Melly bit her lip. 'I don't like it.'

'How many candidates are well enough to stand? If the Hatching is tomorrow?'

Melly thought rapidly through the young people - her contempories, she realized with faint surprise. It was several sevendays since she'd felt as if she was their age. 'Three of the girls, counting me, but twelve of the Lower Caverns women agreed to stand. And I think twenty-three boys… maybe twenty-five, if Telen and Ril can stand… they'd have to go back to the infirmary straight afterwards, but I think they'd be all right. And then Jarrin was going to stand as well, wasn't he?'

'Well, fifteen is enough choice for the new queen, but we don't even know if the dragonet'll consider the older women. What if it's not just the practical consideration of needing young and fit people to fight that's why we've never let older people stand before? And the other eggs; it's useless. You're offering Lystar a maximum of twenty-six male candidates - and we're talking about thirty-six dragonets! It can't be done.'

'Well, each day the Hatching doesn't happen I can give you more. There's forty-nine candidates that I think'll recover, eventually.' Melly paused, and then asked carefully. 'Is it so terrible to have unImpressed dragonets?'

Marti gaped at her, then collected herself, shaking her head. 'You're not a dragonrider,' she said tightly.

Melly blinked. She knew that she wasn't - or she hadn't been - popular around the Weyr, but she'd never heard the junior Weyrwoman say anything so nearly rude before. 'I know they suicide…'

Marti nodded. 'It's the most terrible thing I've ever seen. And I've only seen it happen with one dragonet, once. But this - we'd be condemning ten or more! The Weyr would never recover.'

'Even now?' Melly asked her. 'I know I sound callous to you, Marti - and you're right, I'm _not_ a dragonrider, and maybe that means I see more clearly - but how many dragons have died in the past four sevendays? Is the Weyr really going to notice a few more that badly?'

'Yes!' Marti stared at her, and then said, 'Anyway, you haven't thought about this. We _need_ those dragonets, all of them. We've got to bring the Weyr back up to strength, and do it as soon as possible. And more than that, I think these dragonets are going to be a symbol to the Weyr, Melly. We've turned the corner; terrible things have happened here, so many people are dead, but it's almost over now. We need this Hatching to be a happy event. We just can't let a quarter of the dragonets die!'

Melly looked steadily at the young Weyrwoman. 'All right,' she said, quietly. 'You win. Take precautions, but you can bring them in.'

* * *

'This is amazing,' Lystar breathed. She stood with Melly, Marti and Reia at the edge of the Weyr bowl, watching a stream of riders angling down towards them. She could see that each dragon was carrying two, or even three or four riders. 'We're going to be all right. We're really going to be all right!'

Collecting herself, the Weyrlingmaster hurried forwards to welcome the new candidates, who were gathering into an uncertain huddle. Melly watched Lystar chatting with and reassuring the little group for a minute, then her attention was caught away as a huge bronze dragon glided down into the Weyr bowl, followed immediately by an even larger gold.

Her eyebrows creased together as the two riders - even Melly realised that they must be the Weyrleaders at one of the other Weyrs - swung themselves athletically down from their dragons and strode across the bowl towards the little group. Melly bit her lip. She'd _said_ that the quarantine still held, and no one should enter or leave Ista Weyr unnecessarily. She shot an accusing glance at Marti.

The little dark queenrider met her eyes blankly and shrugged. 'Nothing to do with me,' she muttered. 'V'kon's a law unto himself.'

Melly looked back at the dark, sardonic man approaching. She knew the name - V'kon of High Reaches, which meant that the tall willowy blonde following him must be Weyrwoman Narissa - but she didn't really know anything about the Weyrleader.

Reia stepped elegantly forwards as the High Reaches Weyrleaders approached. 'Narissa, V'kon, a pleasure, but I feel that you may have been slightly misinformed… it's lovely to see you, but I'm afraid we're still in quarantine.'

Melly smiled to herself. She'd barely met Reia, but she was impressed already by the unflappable Weyrwoman.

V'kon made Ista's Weyrwoman an elegant bow. 'We'll risk it,' he drawled.

'We understand that there's not much danger any more,' Narissa's light voice was barely audible. 'Have you heard from the Masterhealer? We gather that your idea about the plague being in the water has produced startling results in Keroon.'

'Benden and Igen have been rather over-enthusiastically making clean water deliveries to Holds all over the place,' V'kon said lazily. 'L'mek decided to help out, given that J'sor and Katriel were already supplying you here. Really I don't know why we even pretend to have autonomous Weyrs any more.'

'Absolutely,' agreed a strong voice from behind the High Reaches Weyrleader. 'And of course you weren't yourself flying thread in eastern Nerat yesterday… my duty, Reia.'

'T'gin, welcome,' Reia said, laughing. 'Earla, my dear. Are we to expect all the others as well?'

Melly, standing back from the Weyrleaders' conversation, had seen the second pair of huge metallic dragons make their landing in the Weyr bowl, and she could see a third pair waiting above for the Fort Weyrleaders' dragons to lift themselves away and up onto the rim of the Weyr bowl. But there were dragons lining the rim in all directions; dragons of all colours and sizes. Melly turned her head in astonishment. Where had they come from? Even if the dragons who had dropped off the new candidates had stayed behind, they couldn't even nearly account for the sheer number of beasts now perched up at the top of the Weyr.

She recognised the next pair of dragons as soon as they came down to land; J'sor and Katriel waved cheerfully as they leapt to the ground and crossed the bowl. 'Reia!' called the fair-haired Benden Weyrwoman. 'How are you?'

'Much better,' Reia told her, embracing Katriel. 'Almost completely normal again. I can't thank you enough for all your help, Kat, J'sor.'

At that point Melly was distracted. She was half-expecting by then another great golden queen and her bronze escort; but behind the massive pair a full wing of dragons burst into existence - and then another - and another…

Melly's mouth dropped open in shock. It looked as though a whole Weyr of dragons had arrived in the skies above Ista. The rim of the Weyr was getting crowded by this time, and some of the new dragons couldn't find a place to stand among the jostling crowd; smaller dragons were scattering slightly down from the very top of the bowl, finding perches on ledges and rough outcrops of the cliff faces. She blinked. Had _all_ the Weyrleaders brought their entire complement of dragons? Were all the dragons of Pern here?

'That's L'mek and Polla,' Marti muttered beside her. The Igen candidates were already beginning to climb down into the bowl and join the little group around Lystar. 'That's all we'll get. I shouldn't think that anyone will come from Telgar.'

Melly ran her eyes over the bunch of candidates. 'About thirty. That's still not a lot, is it?'

'No, but it's enough.' Marti smiled with relief. 'Even if the Hatching is tomorrow, we have enough…'

'Good afternoon,' Reia greeted the Igen Weyrleaders.

L'mek brushed the formalities aside. 'How is R'lan?' he enquired anxiously. 'And you? It's really over, Reia?'

'Largely,' Reia told him, calmly. 'R'lan is as well as can be expected. We believe he will make a full recovery.'

'Well, that's a relief.' L'mek subsided, and Igen's dark, laughing Weyrwoman took the opportunity to take Reia's hand, rolling her eyes at her weyrmate. L'mek caught her eye and grinned, then looked around. 'Where's M'fer?'

V'kon raised his eyebrows. 'Surely, my dear L'mek, you don't expect M'fer to show his face here before the quarantine is officially over?'

'He's up there,' said Narissa, serenely, as if she hadn't heard her weyrmate's comment. The dreamy blonde woman pointed upwards and everyone followed her finger to see the final Weyr of dragons explode out of _between_ and fill Ista's deep blue sky with a mass of colour. The dragons of Ista had begun to realise that something was going on, too. About half of the cliff side weyrs now had wedge-shaped heads peering enquiringly out of them. Many dragons were dropping out of their weyrs and landing in the bowl, craning their necks upwards to watch their cousins round the top of the cliffs. Melly could see that many of them bore riders. They looked a motley crew, pale and ragged, and some dragons were alone, or didn't leave their weyrs, because their rider was too sick to come out. But where possible, walking, staggering, supporting each other, Ista Weyr was gathering too.

They could hear M'fer's querulous voice before the Telgar Weyrleader reached them. 'I really don't see why we had to come,' he complained. 'I know the Masterhealer didn't recommend breaking Ista's quarantine for another three sevendays. I think it was most irresponsible of you and the others to insist, Wren.'

Telgar's Weyrwoman, a young and fierce-looking redhead, rounded on the Weyrleader, but T'gin of Fort intervened. 'We're here to pay tribute to Ista Weyr, M'fer!' he called across the bowl, his strong clear voice reaching the huddle of candidates as well as the ragged crowd of Ista riders. Melly could see now that a lot of the Lower Cavern women had joined the riders, so that there were figures on foot among the great humped shapes of dragons; the whole Weyr was here, all but the sick and the few woman who couldn't leave the infirmary.

'We're here because they are!' Fort's Weyrleader continued, speaking to the whole crowd; all the dragonriders of Pern. 'Because they have suffered and died, but they have held fast, and the plague has spread no further. And now it is over!'

His last words seemed to ring into a sudden silence. Over! thought Melly, breathlessly. Yes, it is… or it's getting that way, anyway. It's over… She smiled slowly, wonderingly, and looked round at the faces. She could see the same incredulous relief dawning over all the Istans. It's over! No more worrying, no more fear. Plenty of sorrow, still; but a chance for hope, as well. A chance for a new beginning. It's over…

Up on the rim of the Weyr a dragon roared. Melly looked up and for a minute saw T'gin's huge deep-chested bronze rearing up on his hind legs and bellowing his appreciation, before the dragons either side of him took up the cry and it rippled around the Weyr until they seemed at the centre of a storm of noise.

Close by them, Melly heard another dragon take up the cry. She frowned, looking round, and saw Caliath rearing up onto his haunches. Lystar was standing beside her dragon, her fists clenched, and gazing into the sky, her eyes streaming with tears. And the other Ista dragons were following the big blue's lead, so that inside the colossal noise of the dragons' roar Melly could hear the little knot of sound that Ista made; and not just the dragons. She could hear voices, and amongst the deafening noise she could pick out the sharp staccato of applause. _It's over… it's over_… the idea swept through the Weyr and Ista cheered and cried and screamed.

She heard a sharp piercing whistle cut through the roaring and turned to look for its source. K'beth was standing on Rosith's back, clapping with the rest, and Jarrin was beside him; the Harper had his fingers in the corners of his mouth, and it was him who was whistling, shrill and clear above the deep cry of the dragons. But the two men weren't gazing up into the sky like the others; they were looking over towards the little group of all the Weyrleaders, and K'beth looked as though he was shouting something. Melly strained to listen, but there was no point at all in trying to understand one voice in all that clamour.

Around Rosith's slim emerald shape, other people were turning to look at K'beth and Jarrin; and then swinging round to face in the same direction, still screaming and cheering. Melly frowned again; what was it they were…?

Marti touched her shoulder and then to Melly's astonishment hugged the younger girl. The junior queenrider was crying too, with happiness and relief and sorrow. 'You're amazing, Melly!' she screamed over the colossal noise around them. 'You did it! You did it! Go on!' She released the little candidate from her hug and pushed her out away from the little group of Weyrleaders so that she stumbled a few steps forwards and stood alone. And then she caught what the Istans were calling: 'Meliana! Meliana!'

And for a second, astonished and delighted and awed and inexplicably choked up and blinded with tears, Melly stood alone in the centre of the bowl at Ista Weyr, and all the dragons of Pern roared for her.

Then all descended into chaos; Melly felt a racing person thud into her, and K'beth grabbed her, preventing her from falling over, and kissed her. Jarrin cannoned into them a second afterwards, and then Lystar, who shoved the two men aside to throw her arms around Melly, sobbing. Melly felt another person crash into the group, and people that she didn't even know were hugging and kissing her, thumping her on the back until her shoulder blades felt sore. Melly, private and undemonstrative, felt somewhat uncomfortable; but she knew that she belonged here now, and always would do.

And roaring in her ears was the colossal noise of dragon roars, and glowing on her cheek the warm place where K'beth had kissed her.

Lystar had broken away from the noisy, tangled huddle of Ista riders to run over and embrace her mother - crying harder than ever, she couldn't even begin to sort out her emotions - so she was free of the emotions and confusion of the crowd and lifted her head, frowning, as the noise of the dragons began to change. The triumphant roaring was changing; modulating into a deep humming vibration that shivered through the air until Lystar could feel the rock under her feet shaking with the intensity of the note.

She knew what it was almost instantly, and instinctively she swiped a hand across her eyes and set out running across the bowl. _Cal, get Shareth to help you find some blues and greens to help! _'Candidates! With me!'


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: This was going to be the last chapter, but it got so very long that I had to split it up. Easiest chapter I've ever written; it just came pouring out onto the page. I think that may be because some of the things that happen in this chapter are the ones I've been planning for the whole story. Or maybe I'm just in a good writing mood today. Whatever.**

* * *

_The baby is crying_, said Rosith, apprehensively. The green had leapt out of the way of the sudden onset of people rushing towards the Hatching Grounds and gone to perch up on their weyr ledge, where her head was cocked inquisitively to listen to the bawling infant inside. _He is _very_ loud_, Rosith continued plaintively.

_What? Oh shards -_ K'beth, who had grabbed Jarrin's arm and was dragging the Harper as fast as he could through the crowd, paused and looked around him. _Where's Lystar?_

_Busy busy busy, Caliath says. She asks us to deal with this_.

'Shards!' K'beth howled, out loud. 'Jarrin - no, you have to get to the Hatching Grounds. Go on without me - get there as soon as possible. Good luck! I'll make sure I get a good place to watch.'

He shoved his friend - who was, the greenrider thought, unaccountably pale and silent - in the direction of the Hatching Grounds, and himself dived out of the crowd, making for the steep and treacherous staircase that would take him up the cliff side.

* * *

Marti was surprised to find herself buzzing in anticipation of the Hatching. She fidgeted excitedly on Amerenth's back as the queen soared into her place in the stands, letting Marti climb down before lifting away again to find a space near the roof; a roof that was full of golden and bronze hides today, with almost no space left for the lesser coloured beasts. Polla of Igen shuffled along to make space for the host Weyr's junior weyrwoman, gesturing for one of her own juniors to cram up as well. Marti saw for the first time that all the other queen- and bronzeriders from the other Weyrs had come down from the heights when the dragons began announcing the Hatching. She smiled round at the group, hoping that not too many more were still on their way. Space was already running short.

Marti knew that Reia had gone to get R'lan; Hanna, when consulted, had declared that as long as he was well looked after it was unlikely that any harm would come to him from being supported as far as the warm Hatching cavern. Marti'd offered the Weyrwoman Amerenth's services to get the Weyrleader down there, since Shareth, always a broody queen, was hovering over her eggs, but Reia had told her that Aneth would do very well to carry them both there, and that she should hurry down. Even so, she'd thought that she would be one of the last to arrive; but people were still pouring in.

Marti sat down, nodding her thanks to Igen's Weyrwoman, bouncing slightly in her seat - she'd been this excited before, at her own Impression, at the Hatching of Amerenth's first clutch, but really, she thought, it was undignified. What had got into her? Was it just the peculiar and emotional nature of this day?

She glanced down at Lystar mustering her confused, scared and definitely strangely attired group of candidates - some of Ista's own candidates had managed to grab traditional white robes from their rooms, but the majority were still wearing the casual clothes or borrowed riding gear that they'd arrived in - and grinned at the sight of the sturdy, sensible group of older women looking around the sands as if they had been swept off their feet by events and weren't quite sure what was going on. But before she had more than a cursory inspection she was interrupted by a burst of clapping and cheering from the crowded stands. She looked round and saw that the dragonriders of Pern were pressed tightly together and jostling for space, all on their feet; certainly no space to sit down; but the festival atmosphere prevailed, and the remaining Ista riders were looking across at the huge golden dragon who had just flown in and showing their appreciation.

Marti looked up, identified Katriel's Lumeth, and understood. She joined the grateful applause as Benden's Weyrleaders descended neatly into their stand, and herself stood up, hastily, to offer Katriel a seat. Ista had not forgotten that Benden had flown thread over Igen to assist their beleaguered riders, nor the supply drops of food and water that riders of that Weyr had made every day.

J'sor raised a hand in thanks, acknowledging the applause, but before it had time to begin to die away it was superseded by a huge roar of cheering. Suddenly not just the Ista riders but everyone crammed into the Hatching Cavern seemed to be waving their hands in the air and bellowing at the top of their lungs. Marti felt Amerenth bugle an affectionate greeting, and grinned. Aneth, carrying R'lan and Reia, had just flown in.

_How long?_ she thought at her dragon, flicking a rapid glance down at the sands, but she didn't catch the answer. Nearly all the Weyrleaders had climbed to their feet, and willing hands were reaching out to steady R'lan's precipitous descent from his dragon's high back.

Marti saw the Weyrleader standing - a hand on L'mek of Igen's shoulder for support, to be sure, but definitely standing on his own two feet - for a moment, before he was hustled into a hastily cleared seat at the front of the stand, and T'gin of Fort was reaching up to catch Reia, still not perfectly steady on her own feet after her recovery. But then a yell from the crowd caught her attention, almost as Amerenth said excitedly, _They are hatching!_

Sure enough, a couple of the eggs - very far away, they seemed from her position, very small - were rocking gently on the sand, and as Marti watched jagged cracks spread across the surface of one smooth sphere, like a dark trail creeping across the surface. Suddenly, all in one piece, the shell fell apart, and the little hatchling, creeling imperiously, set out across the hot sand to the group of nervous candidates. Melly caught a glint of reflected light from birth-wet, green-brown, metallic skin, and gasped. A bronze! A bronze first out of the egg! The best of good omens for this Hatching!

* * *

Lystar had been trying to do several things at once; find all the candidates and get them on the sands, organise and remind them of what they'd learned, reassure and comfort the scared, which was most of them. Some of the younger children had even burst into tears, and it didn't help the young Weyrlingmaster that some she'd barely met and didn't even know the names of yet, while she felt diffident about giving orders to the women who'd looked after her during her childhood at Ista. At least Jarrin wasn't worrying her; he was clearly nervous, but had smiled bravely at her as she hugged him, wished him well, and thrust him out into the sands.

Once she'd marshalled the candidates and sent them out towards the eggs she thought she'd have a breathing space; but as her immediate area cleared she could see a boy leaning back against the wall, one hand on his head.

_Another one immobilised by nerves!_ she sighed, and headed towards him, dancing slightly as the burning heat of the sands threatened to make its way through the old and worn soles of her boots and scorch her feet.

_No, he has been ill_, Caliath told her.

_He has?_ Lystar recognised the boy as she got closer, touching his shoulder. 'Ril, should you be here?'

'Meliana said this morning that I was well enough to stand,' Ril said, stubbornly. 'I _am_ well enough.'

Lystar looked at him anxiously; the brown-haired boy looked pale and was shaky on his feet. Then her attention wavered as she heard the roaring of the crowd. _The Hatching is beginning_, Caliath told her.

Ril heard it too, and guessed what it meant. He pushed himself away from the wall, and slowly, taking tottering steps, made his way towards the rest of the candidates. Lystar bit her lip anxiously and half-started forwards after the boy; and then stopped and blinked in surprise.

The line of boys was faltering and scattering; and through it, like a small gleaming arrow, a dragonet was charging, tripping one boy who didn't get out of the hatchling's path soon enough. The little bronze was the only dragonet out of the shell so far; every pair of eyes in the Hatching Grounds was on the tiny creature's progress as it dashed up to Ril and head butted the weak boy's knees so hard that he staggered and almost fell.

'Reth!' the boy gasped, ecstatically; and then his knees gave out. He crumpled up, slowly, and collapsed.

Lystar, who'd been expecting it as soon as Ril tottered unsupported onto the sands, leapt forwards and caught the boy even before he hit the ground. She breathed out again, knowing what injuries the burning sands of the Hatching Ground could inflict; the same accident that had led to a girl Impressing a blue dragon was what had robbed Lystar of the sight in her left eye, many turns ago now in this very Cavern.

The plague had drained flesh and liquid from Ril's body, leaving the boy skinny and almost weightless, so that she could carry him easily. She gave him a quick check over, but she knew even before she started that the problem was exhaustion caused by the boy's recent illness. The little bronze dragonet was squealing and hissing anxiously by her foot, whether in worry for his new rider or his own stomach Lystar didn't know. _Cal, reassure little Reth_, she said. _Tell him we'll feed him and look after Ril_. She glanced up and caught her mother's eye, leaning anxiously over the edge of the stand, and waved reassuringly. 'He'll be fine!' she called, although she wasn't sure that Reia could hear her. _Tell Shareth, please? And ask the little one to follow me_.

She hadn't even made it off the sands before she was met by one of the riders who often helped after an Impression, showing the newest riders something about how to care for their dragons. 'All right, Lystar,' he said, nodding at her. 'I guess you want to watch the rest of your brood. I'll take the lad back down to the Infirmary, and feed the little bronze too.'

'Thanks, G'ress,' Lystar said gratefully. She knew that her fellow bluerider was reliable, and surrendered Ril's limp form to him with no qualms. _And he better had be fine_, she told Caliath, privately. _We need bronzeriders now. And little Reth is our lucky bronze, first out of the egg. Faranth's egg, Ril had better not have a relapse now!_

She turned to look back across the Hatching Ground and began to step forwards when she felt a tap on her shoulder; her right shoulder. It was someone who knew well that she hated being approached from her blind side, she deduced, and turned to smile gratefully up at K'beth, who had Benellin cradled in his arms, awake but placidly blinking at the ceiling. 'Hey, I'm glad you're here. Couldn't you find a space in the stands?'

K'beth laughed. 'In that?' He gestured at the tight-packed, cheering crowd. They had gone quiet when Ril collapsed, but Lystar guessed that Shareth must have broadcast her reassurance, since the noise level had climbed again. 'Here.' He held out the baby to the bluerider. 'You can take him,' K'beth informed his weyrmate, distastefully. He grimaced. 'He'd fouled himself; I had to clean up…'

Lystar burst out laughing, accepting Benellin's warm round form into her arms, and leaning her head affectionately on the greenrider's shoulder.

'You may well laugh,' K'beth told her, craning over his weyrmate's head to watch the progress of the Hatching, 'but -' His voice altered, and Lystar felt his body beside hers become stiff. 'Hey,' K'beth said urgently. 'Where's Melly?'

'What?' Lystar whirled around. Most of the eggs were still unhatched, and there had been no signs of movement from the queen egg, so the female candidates were still standing in an uncertain group to one side, watching for any sign of movement in that giant golden egg. Lystar could see the twelve older women from Ista's Lower Caverns; she could see a small huddle of girls, some of whom she didn't know yet; but she could see no sign of Melly's tiny, beautiful figure.

_She's not here_. Caliath, from his vantage point near the roof, confirmed K'beth's intuition.

'Shards!' Lystar exclaimed. Then she looked round, surveying the progress of the Hatching, and stuck out her chin. 'We can still find her,' she said, determinedly. 'That queen's not hatching yet.'

'Right,' said K'beth, responding to the fighting light in Lystar's eyes. Then a sudden thought sprang to mind; a place that he'd found Melly once, on the edge of despair. 'I think I might know… I'll go…' He was hurrying away even as he said it.

'I'll go up to the bowl!' Lystar called after him. 'Check all the obvious places! And be quick!'

* * *

Jarrin felt out of place. To be sure, he wasn't the oldest candidate present, but the women were all hanging back, and he felt exposed and tall as a giant in the midst of the boys. He moved forwards with them, at the end of the line, but he knew, suddenly, that it was no use. He was a Harper, not a dragonrider… it was stupid to think…

He didn't have to move out of the way when the first little hatchling rushed through the boys to Ril's feet, but the bronze's swift choice confirmed his pessimistic thoughts. What _was_ he doing here?

A couple of the other eggs were beginning to split open as Jarrin and the group of boys reached the large group of smooth and tumbled white ovoids. Shareth was keeping well back, hovering over the as-yet unmoving queen egg, watching the boys suspiciously, and Jarrin was glad of that; both K'beth and Lystar had told him horror stories about the protective queen, back in the days before they'd had any idea that Jarrin would ever be out here on the sands.

Jarrin could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Everyone must be able to hear it, he thought, rolling his eyes towards the boy next to him in line. But the intent, pale, red-haired boy didn't seem to notice anything. It's just me, Jarrin thought to himself. It's just…

He could feel nausea rising up his throat and clenching his gut. Oh shards, am I going to be sick? In front of the whole Weyr - no, every dragonrider on Pern?

A darker thought struck him, and he stopped dead. No. I'm not _really_ sick, am I? With the plague?

Get a grip, he told himself. It's just nerves. You're behaving as childishly as any one of these boys. You're not going to Impress, so just pull yourself together. Think about Harper business, if that helps. You'll be going back to the Harper Hall in a couple of sevendays…

He tried to make room for that thought in his head, and failed. He'd always had friends at Ista Weyr, and visited from time to time, but now… now, after all the things they'd been through, to _leave_?

You'll have to, he reminded himself. No way you're Impressing. Too old. Not open-minded enough…

Even as he voiced his discouraging thoughts, he continued stumbling between the eggs. The line of boys had broken up now, as some were chosen, and others headed towards where they'd seen eggs beginning to rock and crack, hoping to be in with a chance. Jarrin glanced around. He'd come the furthest through the clutch, and he was standing alone at the far end from the entrance to the Hatching Grounds. There were fewer eggs here; he supposed that he ought to go back. He couldn't see Lystar any more; she must have gone to see to something - maybe taken Ril back to the Infirmary -

Jarrin's thoughts broke off as he heard the crackle of eggshell behind him. He spun round, surprised, to find that a large fragment had fallen off an egg just behind him, and the head and one wing of a little dragonet were poking out of the gap. Jarrin had time to taken in the little hatchling's colour - deep brown, like the warm glowing colour of polished wood, a rich autumnal colour - when the dragonet gave a heave and one of its front claws burst through the already weakened egg shell. It creeled impatiently, wriggling and hissing in exasperation as it tried to break free of the remainder of the shell. It was so hungry, and he wasn't helping it!

'Sorry, sorry!' said Jarrin. He dropped to his knees beside the beautiful little brown dragonet, oblivious to the pain as the heat of the burning sands reached through his clothing to burn the skin underneath and wrenched the last pieces of shell apart so that the little one could step out of the mess of the egg, shaking his feet fastidiously.

_Food!_ The dragonet demanded, fixing astonishing rainbow eyes on Jarrin. The Harper could feel his own stomach aching; he was starving, a huge empty pit after all that time in the shell…

Jarrin shook his head, clearing it slightly, although he couldn't entirely get rid of the nagging sensation of starvation. 'I'll get you something to eat,' he assured the dragonet, hurriedly. 'Right away. Let me help you.' He reached out and gingerly picked up the little creature, and felt for the first time the astonishing sensation of holding a dragon in his hands; soft damp hide and sinuous strength. The hatchling's wings were no more than wisps of fine membrane, sodden with the egg's fluid, plastered against the struts of bone that would one day support the huge expanse of wing that would keep this dragon - _his_ dragon - aloft for hours at a time.

The dragonet's tail twined firmly around his arm, and the creature's eyes met his again, begging, _Food! You promised!_

'Yes, I did, I will,' Jarrin assured him, hastily, and began to retrace his steps across the hatching ground. He remembered vaguely Lystar telling him that food was laid on for starving baby dragons, and he supposed someone would show him where to go.

A thought struck him. _Do you have a name?_ he enquired, trying out the soundless speech that seemed to work for the hatchling.

_I thought you'd never ask!_ The little brown rubbed its head comfortingly against his chest. _I am Valanth, and you are J'rin. Now where's that food?_

His face alight, almost laughing with the joy of the moment, Jar - no, J'rin - looked upwards, trying to catch a glimpse of any of his friends. Lystar had vanished somewhere, and he couldn't pick out K'beth in the vast and chaotic crowd; but he heard a most undignified whoop from the Weyrleaders' area, and looked up to see Marti punch the air, dancing up and down in excitement. He met the young queenrider's eyes, and to her - and the rest of the world - he shouted, 'His name is Valanth!'

Then, responding to the brown's - to his Valanth's - increasingly urgent promptings, he crossed the last bit of the distance to the cavern entrance at a run and went to look for some food.

* * *

It was Lystar who found Melly. The little dark girl hadn't gone anywhere; she'd simply been left behind when everyone began rushing towards the Hatching Ground. Now she was standing alone in the centre of the bowl, an upright and lonely figure under the curious eyes of the dragons, mostly greens and blues, that were still perched around the rim, watching the Hatching through the eyes of partners or friends who had been able to squeeze into Ista's over-crowded Hatching Cavern.

Melly was feeling very strange; distant, and almost fragile. She was putting all the strength in her mind into holding herself together, as if she might dissolve, or fly into fragments, if she let herself go.

Almost unconsciously, she lifted a hand to her cheek, to the place where K'beth had kissed her. Her insides were cold and flat, but that spot glowed warmly; she was convinced that it must be visible, pink against her white skin. He'd kissed her; because he was happy and proud of her, as part of the celebration, but still…

He'd kissed her.

And she knew she couldn't go into the Hatching Ground, under the eyes of the crowd and the roar of all that noise and compete for the notice of the queen dragon; with the Istan candidates who half-feared her and the others who saw her as a rival and an obstacle to their success; with the weight of expectations and hopes pressing down on her; and K'beth, who wanted her to Impress a queen, who liked her as a friend, a very dear friend maybe, but never more than that.

And she'd heard awful tales about Hatchings, too. She'd heard that people were mauled by the dragonets and sometimes died; and the Hatching Ground itself could do damage, couldn't it? Look at Lystar's eye - and it was that injury that had led eventually to the white feathering of old thread scars all over the left side of the bluerider's body. Who'd be a dragonrider? Melly wondered, her heart making undignified leaps into her mouth. No, it would be better to stay out here, keep well away from the Hatching Cavern. _Well_ away.

'Melly!'

She jumped and spun round to see Lystar rushing towards her from the cavern entrance. The bluerider had the baby tucked into the crook of one arm, dribbling peacefully over her good tunic, and was out of breath. She'd obviously been running hard. 'Thank goodness I found you!' she panted. 'Come on, Melly, there's still time!'

'No,' said Melly, quickly, instinctively. She had dropped her hand guiltily away from her cheek when K'beth's weyrmate came running over to her.

Lystar stared. 'Whyever not?'

'The heat, the crowds, the noise…' Melly shuddered, and made a helpless gesture with her hands. 'And it's dangerous, isn't it?'

Lystar looked at her strangely, and then, incongruously, began to smile crookedly. 'Melly! I can't believe what I'm hearing! You're afraid? _You_? Who've been as calm and cool as a High Reaches winter this whole time?'

Melly blinked. 'That wasn't very much to be afraid of. It just needed careful planning. But I'm not very good with crowds and loud noises and sudden decisions. I panic…'

'Melly.' Lystar hefted the baby up until he was leaning against her shoulder, and reached out with her free hand to grip the younger girl's shoulder. 'The Hatching is nothing to be afraid of, I swear. I've only ever seen one really serious injury. And Melly, Impression is worth the risk.' She shrugged and gestured at her own clouded eye. 'It's worth this, Melly, and being grounded for threadfall, and all the awful things that have happened. I've regretted a lot of things, but I've never, never wished to change them. Not if it would mean losing Cal too. It's that amazing, Melly. It's that special. You know, I -' She swallowed. 'I'd give almost anything - I'd give my life - to have Gilda and G'zul and all my other friends back. Sometimes I think that today I'm the only person remembering them; and I know I'll be remembering them every day for the rest of my life, no matter how long I go on. But to get them back, I wouldn't give one second of the time I've spent with Cal. I couldn't. Not one heartbeat.'

Melly, watching Lystar with surprise and concentration, heard the bluerider's voice falter and break, and felt as though she was standing on the brink of a huge precipice of understanding. 'It's… like that?' she asked, timidly.

Lystar nodded, her lips pressed together and her eyes suspiciously bright. 'Yes. Now come on!' She grabbed Melly's arm and tugged the small girl after her; and Melly didn't resist.

* * *

Half-unconsciously, Jory was biting her nails. She wasn't sure what to do. She glanced over at the queen egg again; it still wasn't moving. Was that normal? Her father was a seaholder from Nerat; she'd never been to a Hatching before. And the people around her were definitely strange; why, half of them were grown-up!

She hopped from one foot to the other to try and reduce the pain of the hot floor scorching through her sandals. She'd put on the white candidate robe, too; she'd thought you had to, but now she felt really silly wearing this huge shapeless garment when most other people were just dressed in their normal clothes. There was no one she knew around, only dull thoughtless Maia. She'd have welcomed even Kindra's company now, snob though the other girl was, but the black-haired beauty was down in the infirmary; not sick to death, but too bad to come to the Hatching. Well, it served her right! She was so sure that she was going to Impress the queen, just because she was a Lord Holder's great niece; even though Jory thought that it was much more likely that Meliana would. But even Meliana wasn't here now.

Some of the other girls were whispering together, letting out shrill, hysterical giggles. Jory checked the queen egg again, flicking short stringy hair out of her eyes. It still wasn't moving.

What exactly did happen when an egg began to hatch? Jory looked over towards the main bulk of the clutch, where the boys were spread out, anxiously looking around. Over half of the eggs had hatched already, and there was beginning to be a sense of panic, of desperation, among the boys who were left. As Jory watched, an egg at their edge of the clutch began to rock; gently at first, and then with a sudden vigorous shove the shell splintered and a haughty green stood among the fragments, shaking her head and emitting piercing shrieks.

A large number of boys who were standing nearby turned and rushed towards the dragonet, looking hopeful; the little hatchling reared and squealed aggressively as a number of figures suddenly loomed over her, and behind Jory someone swore. 'The idiots! Can't they see they're scaring her?'

A bulky figure rushed past Jory, and she realised in astonishment that it was one of the Lower Caverns women who'd been standing in a group beside the girls. Grateful for someone to break the tension, Jory drifted after the woman, who had scattered the group around the dragonet, and was reaching down to pick up the little green. 'There, there,' the woman crooned reassuringly. 'It's all right, little dear, little Teneth.'

Jory looked up in amazement, her hand dropping away from her mouth in her shock. That was Impression! That woman knew the green hatchling's name!

The girl watched in astonishment and envy as the woman carried her life's companion off the sands, murmuring encouragement and reassurance to the creature. So the grown-ups _could_ Impress too! And that green was such a pretty colour; subtle and glowing…

Jory had never considered herself an ideal person to be a weyrwoman; after all, she was only a mere scrub of a fisherman's daughter, wiry and gap-toothed and barely literate, hardly what people imagined in a queenrider. But golds were the only chance for a girl to Impress. There was Lystar, of course, but she was a unique case. Wasn't she?

Jory looked again after the Lower Caverns woman. _She_ had Impressed a slender little green…

She looked around her with sudden decision. A largish egg was rocking in the centre of the clutch, and most of the fifteen or so remaining boys were gathering around it. But Jory could see that a little way around from her a much smaller egg was beginning to hatch; and she even fancied she could catch a glimpse of summer-leaves-green flashing inside the crack. She began to make her determined way towards that egg.

She had only covered half the distance when her egg gave a loud crack and a huge jagged crack spread across the surface, engulfing the smaller one already there. Now Jory was sure that she could see a distinctive emerald colouring…

But the noise had attracted the attention of the boys too. One or two, certain that they weren't going to have a chance at the bronze or brown which must be inside the big egg, turned smartly and began heading towards Jory's little one.

The girl hitched up her robe and began to run in earnest. She was going to get to that egg first, no matter what anyone said afterwards! And she was tougher and faster than she looked; using a trick that always fooled her brothers she ducked under the peremptory outstretched arm of a lordly-looking boy who looked as though he was scandalized to find a _girl_ on the Hatching Grounds and headed on to where the little egg was waiting. It was really moving violently now, being attacked from the inside with a strength born of desperation and hunger. Jory had time for a quick awed appreciation of the determination of the dragonets, kicking themselves out of their cold hard prisons and into the world, and then the egg rocked violently one last time. A huge piece of shell came off; for a moment there was no movement and Jory caught her breath; and then the slim, delicate head emerged, sniffing the air and looking around cautiously.

The little hatchling's whirling eyes caught Jory's anxious green ones; they were so beautiful, thought the girl! Bright glowing colours, with huge depths and so much thought and intelligence behind them, and so much love!

_I _do_ love you_, said the tiny green dragonet. _I love you so much and I am Kadenth and now you are mine and could I please have something to eat?_

'Me?' whispered Jory. 'Really?' Her eyes pricked with tears. One of a hoard of children, she'd grown up wild around the sea hold; fed and washed and clothed by her mother, to be sure, but no one had ever made time for her - made her feel that she was special.

Except this person; this tiny and beautiful and perfect-in-every-way dragon who was looking at her with a desperate hunger. Jory hastily reached out and gathered the hatchling into her arms. 'Of course you can, Kadenth, of course!'

* * *

Lystar arrived back at the entrance of the Hatching Grounds at a run, dragging Melly. The girl hadn't really resisted, but Lystar could feel that her steps had become more uncertain and hesitant as they approached. _And I can't let her not go out there_, Lystar said, half to herself and half to Caliath. _If anyone deserves to Impress, then it's her; and the Weyr needs her, too. She'd be a good weyrwoman_.

_Yes, she would_, agreed Caliath, surprisingly forthright. _Hurry. The queen egg is cracking_.

'Shards shards shards shards shards!' Lystar muttered. Throwing protocol to the winds, she marched out right onto the sands, towing Melly with her, right up to the group surrounding the queen egg, which was now finally beginning to move. She could feel the anticipation of the crowd, and winced; she, the Weyrlingmaster, had now definitely laid herself open to the charge of favouritism. She ought not to have made more effort for any one of the candidates, particularly one with whom she was known to be friends.

But on this day, and in this place, no one would deny assistance to Melly; not Melly, who'd found the source of the plague. Even as Lystar pushed her onto the sands a gap opened up spontaneously to let her into the ranks of women and girls surrounding the gently rocking queen egg.

'Go on!' Lystar said fiercely, pushing the little dark girl forwards. She didn't dare risk a hug in front of all those crowds, but she squeezed Melly's arm comfortingly. 'Go on! You'll be fine. Good luck!'

She shoved Melly forwards into the space, then turned away. She'd watch, of course, but she ought to get off the sands first.

Benellin's weight was beginning to make her arm ache. She hefted the baby higher, so that his head was resting against her left shoulder, and slipped her other arm underneath to support him. _He _is_ well-behaved_, she said admiringly to Caliath. _Most babies would be complaining and protesting at all the noise and rushing around. I suppose we just have to be grateful that Benellin has a placid temperament. At least, I suppose he's all right? Not ill or anything?_

There was an odd pause from Caliath, and then her dragon said in a queer tone of voice, _Very all right_.

At her shoulder the silent baby gurgled with laughter. Lystar twisted her head completely to get him into the vision of her good eye; the child was leaning upright against her shoulder, looking out happily at something behind them.

She frowned. _Cal, what d'you mean -_

'Ma-canth,' gurgled Benellin, waving a chubby fist happily. 'Ma-canth!'

Lystar froze. 'Oh no,' she said. 'Oh no. No. I cannot deal with this now.'

Her eye made it impossible to see anything over her left shoulder. Slowly, knowing and dreading what she would see, she turned around the other way. Benellin, usually so calm, screamed with rage as he lost sight of his new friend.

And standing in the sand behind Lystar, looking forlorn and hungry and gazing up anxiously at Benellin's chubby form, was a tiny bronze dragonet.

* * *

Melly stepped forward into the gap that had been made for her among the other women and girls, feeling as though it was her heart leaping into her mouth that had made the solid lump in her throat. She managed a faint wry smile as she realized that she knew all the older women, but had no idea of the identities of the other girls; but there wasn't time to look around.

The smooth, gleaming curve of the great queen egg was hypnotizing as it rocked in its sandy bed. Melly had been half-consciously making her usual sweep of the area to find escape routes, but the gleam of the egg's golden highlights in the brightness of the Hatching Ground drew her eye and made the thought of running somehow stupid and superfluous.

_Anyway, maybe K'beth is watching_, she reminded herself. _I wouldn't want him to see me running. Not again_.

Perhaps the crowd had gone quiet in breathless anticipation of the queen's hatching, or perhaps it was just Melly's hearing going wrong, but she couldn't hear the shouting and cheering of the crowd any more; just a peculiar buzzing in her ears. She felt detached; around her the candidates stood in their fearful row, but they were no closer to her than the crowd of strangers watching above.

The first crack of shell was quiet, not like the dramatic breaking of some of the other eggs, but it burst sharply in Melly's ears as if it fell into silence; as if it existed on a different level to the fuzzy, indistinct noises of the everyday world. It was the only thing that seemed clear and close to her, and Melly reacted instinctively by stepping forwards.

The part of Melly's mind that was always watching told her that the other candidates had been left behind, looking at her in surprise, some of the bolder ones tentatively following, and she frowned. Hadn't they heard the cracking, quiet but so distinctive? And couldn't they see the fine cracks beginning to spread across the gleaming shell?

Behind her, the other candidates stopped in shock and horror as the seemingly fearless girl walked straight under the bristling and protective arc of Shareth's neck, extended threateningly as the great golden queen defied the women and girls to come near her special golden egg, but Melly didn't even see the huge dragon, or hear her fierce hissing. She touched the egg lightly as she reached it, feeling it rock and shudder against her hand under the unborn dragonet's fierce onslaught. It was almost as tall as the small girl's waist. She could feel the fragility of the hard, brittle shell, and the way it fractured under the impacts from inside.

A harder thrust slammed the egg away from her hand as it toppled over, pieces of shell dropping away. Melly followed its roll, dropping into a crouch to help ease the remains of the egg apart.

The golden dragonet stepped haughtily away from the pieces, her head lifted and tiny, delicately formed nostrils sniffing the air. Her deep-coloured hide glistened like wet dark fire, and when she turned her head the slow, regal movement told Melly that the little queen already knew that she was mistress of all she surveyed.

And that the golden hatchling was already intelligent enough to be difficult. Melly watched the queen dragonet scan the crescent of girls, and turn away, disdainfully, and the dark little girl almost laughed. She hadn't spent the last few sevendays dealing with fractious invalids just to let a little creature's arrogant play-acting mess her about. She stepped over to the hatchling, ignoring Shareth's warning hiss, dodged the half-hearted swipe of claws that the little queen sent in her direction, and laid a hand on the dragonet's warm, wet neck, forcing the small creature to turn her slender, wedge-shaped head and look Melly in the face. 'Now you listen to me, little lady,' she told the hatchling firmly. 'No fooling about like that. You've got to behave, and come and be fed.'

The queen dragonet stood stubbornly firm for a couple of seconds, searching Melly's face with those enormous, colourful eyes, that seemed far too large to fit the slim face in which they were set, and then she sighed. _I _am_ very hungry_, she confessed, stepping hopefully towards the girl. _I am Enneth_.

Melly reached out a hand to caress Enneth's soft damp head, and felt her face stretch out into a smile; a smile broader and brighter than any she'd felt like giving since little Elladree took sick, back home in Keroon. No; not 'back home' in the hills on the edge of the desert any more. Melly stroked the little dragon's head and felt the tears start in her eyes and trickle warmly over her cheeks. Home right here, right now, in Ista Weyr - and with Enneth.

* * *

**AN: I usually try not to do notes at the beginning AND the end of a chapter, but I felt that I had to warn people that I won't be available during the week for some time; I'm moving out to a rented room to be near my new job, and I won't have internet access there, so I won't be able to respond to people except when I come home at the weekends. So please, I want a whole stack of reviews waiting for me Friday night - but don't worry if I don't respond to them until then. I do still appreciate them, promise!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: Pern and the Dragons of Pern belong to Anne McCaffrey**

**AN: OK, now this really is the very last chapter. I hope you enjoy it! (Job's great, by the way - really challenging and interesting. But tiring. Which is why I didn't get this done last week)**

* * *

'Where did all this come from?' gasped Reia. Music was playing in the dining cavern, bright and fast, and even amongst that huge crowd people had squeezed aside to make room for a dancing square, where Reia could see the whirling shapes of couples tackling the furious measure. A rich and savoury smell was drifting over the hall; the tables had been pushed aside to stand against the walls, and the solid stone slabs were loaded with all kinds of favourite foods.

And the hall was crowded with people; people laughing and chatting and talking in a roar of sound that washed over Reia's ears. The contrast between this and the bleak, silent, half-empty hall that she'd become used to ever since she was well enough to come down was so huge that even the cool Weyrwoman was set back. 'Hanna! How did you manage a proper feast?'

'I didn't,' Hanna told her, looking hot and flustered. 'While you were all up at the Hatching a bunch of Benden riders arrived along with half their Lower Cavern people, all loaded down with baskets and trays of food and barrels and barrels of clean water saying that Weyrwoman Katriel sent them because we've got to have a proper feast. And I'd barely got over that one and shown them where to go in our kitchen and all when a couple of dragons fly in carrying the Masterharper and a bunch of his people, saying that Weyrleader V'kon told them that the Weyr was open again and asking them to come for the Hatching. And then -'

'All right, Hanna,' Reia lifted a hand to stop the flow of talk, beginning to smile. 'I get the picture. I should go and be civil to the guests and new riders. Just tell me who else is here.'

'Master Falathan and another Healer, but he's the only one,' Hanna said, relieved to have told Reia everything and moved whatever problems there might be onto her Weyrwoman's shoulders.

Reia nodded. 'The Masterhealer knows better than to get himself infected now that we know the source of this plague, Hanna. None of them should have come, but now that they're here we can only make the best of it. You know how to manage the kitchen, Hanna - just continue as usual. But make sure that everyone drinks the Benden water!'

Hanna nodded, happy to have clear orders again, and headed off back towards the kitchen with something of her usual placidity restored. Reia continued serenely through the crowd, smiling and greeting the people whom she recognised as she passed, heading towards the table at the top of the hall, where a number of the Weyrleaders had already gathered. Some of the younger ones had joined the dancing; L'mek and Polla were matching the Harpers' pace in a whirl of rich fabrics and flying feet, and T'gin had courteously invited red-haired Wren of Telgar onto the floor. Earla of Fort and Narissa of High Reaches had been swept away too, as well as all the junior queenriders; in a crowd this large and composed mainly of dragonriders the men outnumbered the women three to one, and only those women too old, tired or busy to dance were without a partner. Melly, the queen of the hour, had barely made it into the hall before she was swept of her feet, and had been dancing continuously ever since, unable to stop even if she wanted to.

Katriel wasn't dancing, though; she was waiting for Ista's Weyrwoman to make her way up through the hall. The fair-haired Weyrwoman wasn't much given to physical contact, but she touched Reia's arm as her friend approached. 'Hello. Are you happy?'

Reia blinked. 'Kat, you know my Lystar, don't you? I ask because she's the only other person that I know with such a knack for asking totally incongruous questions that go right to the heart of the matter…'

'You're not happy.'

Reia looked up the table. R'lan was leaning back in his chair with his eyes shut, looking drained. But he looked contented too; J'sor was talking quietly to him, and even V'kon was hovering nearby, although he looked so casual that Reia couldn't tell if he was looking out for Ista's Weyrleader or merely there by coincidence. R'lan was definitely getting better. He was happy; and the Weyr was happy, Reia could tell that in the tone of the voices filling the hall and through Shareth's connection with the dragons. Shareth was happy, crooning softly to herself in the quiet of her weyr, bathed in the warm maternal glow that always followed a Hatching. Reia had praised and petted the great queen dragon and shared that sleepy contentment for a while, but duty had obliged her to leave Shareth and come down to the great cavern for civility's sake. Yes, everyone that she cared about was happy.

'Why shouldn't I be happy?' she asked lightly.

'I can think of one reason straight off,' said Katriel, bluntly.

Reia pulled a face at her friend. 'I preferred it back when you were too repressed and uptight to say anything you really thought.'

'Is it that poor little dragonet?'

Reia nodded tiredly. 'Among other things. Am I strange, Kat? There was a moment of horror, and then for most people - nothing else. I'm sure that most of them will have forgotten by now that one of the dragonets didn't find a partner. But I keep thinking of all the things that didn't go quite right today. Like_ four_ female greenriders! That's just… incredible. And the girl might be all right, but are the older women going to be able to keep up with the training? Are they ever going to be fit and agile enough to fight thread, or have we just introduced a group of useless dragons into the Weyr? And those bronzes!' She shook her head. 'I know dragons know who they want, but if I'd had the choice, I wouldn't have picked any of those boys. Four bronzes; Ril might be all right when he gets well, but J'dris got so hysterical with all the emotion that Lystar's still calming him and Treth down enough to get them to lie down and go to sleep. And Benellin! I suppose I ought to call him B'lin now, but he and poor little Malacanth are going to have a tough time of it, I'm afraid. And then the fourth bronze…'

'Yes,' said Katriel, grimly. 'I know. It was just bad luck that he hatched the last in the clutch. I suppose that all the acceptable candidates had been chosen by then, and a lot of the crowd had left too, and were nearly all dragonriders to start with… but Reia, this isn't like you. Calm down. And think how weird it is for me to have to say that. Are you really all right?'

Reia sighed. 'I don't know. I'm tired still.' She looked back across at R'lan. 'And look at him; he's lost so much weight. Is he ever going to get back to what he was?'

'What are you saying?'

'I'm thinking maybe - not yet, not for a while, but I'm beginning to think about retiring,' Reia admitted.

Katriel whistled softly. 'That's a big step, Reia. Are you sure?'

'No,' Reia admitted. 'Maybe in a few sevendays R'lan and I will feel so much like our normal selves that I laugh at the idea. And I definitely don't think that Marti's ready to run the Weyr yet. But the thing is, Kat - I'm not sure if I am, either. Does that sound strange? I've been Weyrwoman for twenty years, after all. But Mother had so much control over things, and without her we're all at a loose end. Meliana could run the Lower Caverns, but she's got Enneth to look after now; Hanna can't do it. The thing is that Mother never trained anyone to follow in her footsteps. She always had total control; none of the other women is at all used to responsibility. Even I don't really know that much about the things that she used to run…' She shrugged. 'It still seems incredible just to believe that she's gone, let alone think about replacing her.'

'Yes, your Gilda was a real character,' Katriel agreed, fervently. 'I can see what you mean, Reia. But you're tired. You should take your own advice and think it over in a few sevendays, when you're well.'

Reia nodded. 'Yes, you're right. And now I need to go and speak to people. Thanks, Kat.' She gently embraced the other woman.

'What else are friends for?' asked Benden's Weyrwoman. 'Now go on; Master Dannen is waiting to speak to you.'

Reia smiled and straightened herself up, turning to face the Masterharper, who was gazing into the distance with his round blue eyes. 'Master Dannen, how nice to see you.'

'Good evening, Reia,' the Masterharper said. His rich, rolling voice always sounded incongruous coming out of his round, placid, slightly vacant face, but Reia had learnt over the years to enjoy the contrast. 'Reia, I'm sorry to bother you when you've got so much demanding your attention, but I really have to know about my Harper. Is Journeyman Jarrin still…?'

Reia's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. This was one thing she'd forgotten to worry about. _Shareth, where's J'rin - Valanth's new rider? Could you get Caliath or Rosith to get their riders to find him and send him here, please? The Masterharper needs to talk to him_.'Yes, he's alive and well - in fact he's been a great deal of help to the Weyr. The only thing is… I'm not sure you'll be altogether pleased…'

* * *

The area that had been assigned to the new weyrlings was almost totally silent as K'beth walked softly through the corridor. Lystar and Marti had hurriedly put their heads together while the young dragonets were stuffed full of food and found a set of rooms that would do; a large one for the boys, a smaller one for the women. They'd given Melly and Enneth a room of their own; they'd considered asking her to share with Jory, as the pair of them had shared when they first Impressed, but decided in the end that it made more sense for the four greenriders to be together, even if Jory was so much younger than the other three women.

J'rin had been a problem to house. He could have shared with the boys, but it seemed somewhat unfair to ask him to do so. In the end, they gave him and Valanth a room of their own too, and that was where K'beth was going to look for his friend.

_Are you sure he's here, sweetheart?_ he asked. The rooms were very quiet and dark; the greenrider was almost sure that everyone had gone on to the celebration. But he'd looked for J'rin there, and not found him. Lystar'd been busy sorting out the assorted problems and emotions of the younger weyrlings, and some of the unsuccessful candidates, and K'beth had wanted to find and congratulate his friends. But Melly was being mobbed by Weyrleaders and bronzeriders for congratulations and dances, and Rosith had relayed a request for Jarr - for J'rin, he _must_ learn to say that - so K'beth was looking for his Harper friend.

For his Harper and dragonrider friend. K'beth grinned. He wondered if J'rin had realised yet that the post of Weyrsinger was vacant. Education of the weyrbrats was yet another thing that Gilda had organised, and now it would have to be done another way.

_Yes_, Rosith said. _He knows now_.

_Knows what?_ K'beth came to a halt outside the little room that Jarrin had been given and laid a hand on the hide curtain. 'J'rin? Are you there?'

'Um-hm,' he heard faintly from inside, so he lifted the curtain aside.

'Well, come on, then, you're missing the feast, and Rosith says the Masterharper's - Jarrin, are you listening to me?'

'Um-hm,' Jarrin murmured vaguely. The Harper was sitting on a stool in the centre of the room, with his knees hunched up so that he could lay a small pile of sheets of smooth, brand new hide on them. He was working quickly with charcoal, and as K'beth stood in the doorway, amused, switched to ink and began a more careful, painstaking filling in and addition of detail.

The greenrider laughed. 'J'rin, you're not hearing a word that I'm saying, are you?'

He walked across the room and peered over his friend's shoulder. Lying on the sheet, curled up, belly gorged and distorted, was a little dragonet. And in front of them, sleeping on his wooden platform at the foot of J'rin's bed, was the same dragonet, glowing a deep contented chestnut.

'Isn't he beautiful?' muttered J'rin, his hand moving steadily as he drew a series of hair-fine lines across the page to show the way Valanth's hide creased as he lay with his snout tucked against his belly. 'Isn't he just perfect?'

K'beth smiled and dropped a hand onto Jarrin's shoulder. 'He is,' he agreed, quietly. 'I'm glad, J'rin.'

J'rin seemed to wake up a little from his trance; he looked up quickly. 'K'beth - I wanted to say -'

'What, to flame me for not being at the Hatching?'

J'rin frowned. 'Weren't you there? Where - oh, that's not what I wanted to say, anyway. No. K'beth - you know when Lystar was - was -'

'Yes, I know.' Even now that it was safely in the past, K'beth's face darkened, and Rosith in his head made a soothing crooning noise. _I'm all right, love_, K'beth reassured her. _It's over now_.

'Well, you remember how Rosith called, and you had to go to her, and you left Lystar?'

K'beth nodded.

'Well, when you did that, I thought - oh, all kinds of things. I thought that was terrible of you, and that you couldn't really love Lystar, and -'

K'beth frowned. 'I had no idea you -'

'- well,' J'rin rushed on, 'I just wanted to say that I take it all back. I can see why, now.' He looked across at his little brown and smiled involuntarily. 'You had to go. Forgive me?'

K'beth swallowed and laughed at the same time and squeezed his friend's shoulder. 'What's to forgive? You couldn't have known. But you do now. This is what it means to be a dragonrider, J'rin.'

Silence fell for a minute, and then K'beth grinned suddenly and twitched the stack of hides away from J'rin. 'But you can't stay here; you've got to come and face the music.'

* * *

Robren curled up into a tiny ball facing the wall and dragged his blankets over his head, trying to block out the sounds of music and celebration. He hadn't opened the glow basket and it was pitch black. The darkness seemed to lean heavily against his eyeballs, but he didn't know if the pressure was coming from out or inside.

He didn't know how long he was there, muscles tense and rigid in his determination to be as small as possible, to vanish altogether into the darkness, but eventually he heard the whisper of the hide curtain in the doorway, a slit of light eased into the room and a quiet voice asked, 'Robren? Are you asleep? I've brought you something to eat.'

It was Lystar. Robren had known her since he was born, and he liked her; a lot. Sometimes it seemed like she was the only person in the Weyr really, truly interested in him and what he cared about and wanted. But right now he didn't want to talk to anyone; not even Lystar. He said nothing.

But she seemed to realise that he was awake anyway. He heard a couple of light steps as she crossed the little room, and then felt his mattress sink beneath the Weyrlingmaster's weight as she sat down on the edge. 'You tried, Robren,' she said. 'It's not your fault.'

'Not my fault?' Robren sat bolt upwards, dragging his creased, tear-stained face clear of the blankets, wide pupils suddenly contracting in the glowlight Lystar had brought into the room. 'That bronze hatched right in front of me! And it looked right at me! And I met its eyes, and thought, Shards, I'm going to Impress after all - and it looked away, desperately, and then -! Lystar, I'm so rubbish it went _between_ rather than choose me! That poor little lonely dragonet. I'll never be a dragonrider now! My father's going to kill me!'

'Ssh ssh.' Lystar hugged the boy. 'Robren, who are you really upset for? The hatchling, or your father, or yourself?'

Robren thought about it for a minute, and then said in a muffled voice, 'All three.'

'Did you really want to ride a dragon so much?'

Robren wriggled. 'You know I didn't, Lystar! But what'll happen to me if I don't? My father's so set on it.'

'Robren - take this from me - there are times when it's just foolish to try and live up to your parents. Look at me; there was no chance I'd ever ride a queen, and even with Cal I'm blind in one eye, but I still thought I had to be the best dragonrider because my parents are the Weyrleaders. But when I stopped trying to do all the things I was no good at, like flying thread, I actually ended up doing a really useful job and helping a lot of people. For you, I'd never have suggested standing as a candidate anyway. I'd've thought you'd do much better in a craft.'

The boy made a muffled noise of agreement, and Lystar smiled at him encouragingly. 'If you had a choice, which craft would you go for?'

'Smiths.' The response was rapid and instinctive.

'So why don't we see if you could get an apprenticeship?'

'Really?' Robren lifted his head for one delighted incredulous moment, and then sagged again. 'But my father…'

'I'll settle your father. You should never have stood at all.'

Robren nodded. 'That little bronze… right in front of me, and I couldn't do anything to help it. And it was screaming in despair, Lystar, and then it went _between_… right in front of me, and I just couldn't… the poor thing!'

'I know. I know.' Lystar swallowed, her eyes glistening in response. They were both silent for a few minutes, and then Lystar said quietly, 'Do you know, through there they're talking about putting up a monument of some kind, probably just a stone with the names on it of everyone who died. When they do, I promise I'll make sure he goes on it.'

'We don't know his name.'

'No, but we'll put him on it just the same. He was a victim of the plague just the same as Gilda and G'zul and V'dar and Caden and Kalla and all the others; the plague's why there wasn't someone here for him who'd he'd have chosen. And it's sad, and it's horrible too, when you can't do anything. And we won't ever forget any of them, Robren.'

Robren swallowed and nodded tearfully. But somehow it made him feel better to have the tragedy acknowledged and put into context. And he was going to be apprenticed to the Smithcraft! He had no fear that Lystar couldn't manage it somehow. 'Thanks, Lystar.'

'Any time. Now, I have to go. I brought you a plate; it's on the side there. Make sure you eat it, Robren, and then try to get some sleep. I know it doesn't really help to hear this now, but you're tired, and you really will feel better in the morning.'

'I feel a bit better now. I'll eat it.'

Lystar smiled. 'Well done, Robren.' She gave the boy one last hug, and then left quietly, dropping the curtain neatly into place behind her.

* * *

Gasping and brushing sweat and strands of hair out of her eyes, Melly dodged out of the crowd of dancers and bolted out of the dining cavern and around the corner of the corridor before anyone could spot her and ask her again. She shook herself and straightened her clothing, then leaned back against the wall, breathing deeply to regain some of her composure. She didn't really like being part of such a huge, excited crowd, especially when most of the people whirling her round and stepping on her feet were strangers. It was all right for a little while, but being caught up in that emotion made Melly feel unsure and slightly frightened. She knew that she wasn't quite in control. Maybe she could get back down to the Infirmary; there she knew exactly what was going on.

She heard footsteps coming down the corridor and straightened herself up, ready to be civil or distant depending on who the passer by might be, but it was Lystar's slim, slightly awkward figure that walked around the corner. Melly smiled, automatically suppressed the expression, and then remembered that she didn't have to do that anymore and let the corners of her mouth stretch upwards. 'Hello, Lystar.'

'Hey, Melly.' Lystar looked tired, and slumped gratefully against the wall beside the smaller girl. 'Did I congratulate you yet? How's Enneth?'

'She's asleep,' said Melly, still marvelling at the way that she knew that instantly even though she was nowhere near the little queen. 'She's well, I think.'

'You'd know about it if she wasn't,' Lystar said, her mouth twisting into a wry smile. 'They shriek the place down at that age. Even later on, you'll learn. Dragons are innately selfish. They don't give you a chance to neglect them.'

'I wouldn't do that!' Melly was shocked.

'Yes, you would.' Lystar looked at Melly and corrected herself. 'All right, maybe _you_ wouldn't. But by the end of the first sevenday I'd've given anything for an hour more in bed, even if that meant missing Cal's morning feed. But he used to come crawl all over me - and those claws are _sharp_ - until I just had to get up. So in the end it always got done.'

Melly looked up at the older girl and began to grin. She found herself remembering suddenly why she liked Lystar. 'You'd have done it anyway. You just think you wouldn't. You'd have done anything for Caliath, like you would for me and the other candidates and for everyone in the Weyr. No wonder everyone likes you, Lystar. You're so _nice_.'

'Oh, come on.' Lystar wriggled and waved a deprecating hand. 'It's not that special. Everyone helps out their friends.'

Melly giggled and put a hand up to her mouth in surprise. She couldn't _remember_ the last time she'd felt like laughing.

'Right, come on,' said Lystar, heaving herself up. 'We have to go back and be polite. I still haven't spoken to everyone yet. And have you seen Master Falathan?'

'No; should I have done?' Melly frowned. 'Why would the Masterhealer want to speak to me?'

'Er… to thank you, perhaps?' Lystar suggested with pretend hesitation. 'Come on, Melly - you found the source of the plague!'

'Oh yes.'

'Besides, between you and me, I've heard that he's going to offer you a healer apprenticeship.'

'Lystar!' Melly pulled up short. 'Is that true? Who told you that?'

'Er - Master Falathan brought a Craftmaster called Nathen with him, who I happen to have known for several years…'

Melly would have laughed again at Lystar's seemingly inexhaustible network of friends, but she was too caught up in the news to spare any attention. 'That's amazing! That's exactly what I always wanted!'

Then she caught her breath in horror. 'But Enneth -!'

Lystar smiled and slipped an arm around her friend, propelling her onwards, back towards the music and chatter. 'It's all right. Cal says that Master Falathan talked to Reia about it and she says that you can go as soon as Enneth's old enough to learn to fly _between_, serve your apprenticeship, and then come back to the Weyr. She wants a proper Healer here too. We need one now Gilda's gone.'

'Yes.'

For a moment both girls thought of the sharp-tongued old Headwoman in silence. Then they reached the doorway of the great cavern, and K'beth's voice called, 'There you are!'

Melly and Lystar looked up together. K'beth and J'rin were standing together near the entrance, and hurried over to the two girls, smiling.

'Where's Benellin?' K'beth asked his weyrmate.

'In the weyr, with Malacanth. Sleeping. Cal's keeping an eye on them.'

'Good.' J'rin put in. 'Lystar, now you've finally got rid of that baby, you can dance with me. Come on.' He put an arm around the bluerider's waist and pulled her away into the dancing square where the Harpers were just striking up a slower tune.

Lystar laughed, grinned at K'beth, and let the Harper pull her away. 'Don't disrespect B'lin,' Melly heard her throw at J'rin as they moved away. 'He ranks you, brownrider!'

'Which leaves us,' K'beth said, laughing, and then turned serious. 'Melly, I don't think that I've had a chance to say yet how truly glad I am that you Impressed Enneth. Really, you deserved it, and I don't think anyone else would be a better weyrwoman.'

'Thanks,' Melly said quietly. Her face lit up softly as she thought of the gleaming dragonet sleeping contentedly in her new room.

K'beth grinned again, and flourished a low bow towards her. 'So, Lady Meliana, will you dance with a lowly greenrider?'

It reminded her of her brother's comical antics, and she pulled a face at K'beth. She hadn't seen this clownish streak in the greenrider before - although how could she have expected to? However long she felt like she'd known him, it had only been seven sevendays; and the situation had been much too serious to allow for light-hearted fun. But K'beth was free to joke about now - and Melly had loved dancing, once. 'Why not?'

As they entered the dance square, Melly almost tripped over her feet with surprise. K'beth - she'd been awkward around him for ages. Only this morning her face had burned and her heart beat faster as he kissed her. And yet here she was twirling in his arms - and thinking of him like her brother. And it didn't matter that he was embracing her; and she had felt for the first time in a long while how good a person Lystar was.

_What's happened to me?_ she asked herself, surprised.

_You have me now_, a sleepy voice replied, and Melly gasped and smiled automatically. _Who else can you need?_

And Melly found herself smiling incredulously, eyes alight and shining as her feet floated across the dance floor, because she was Meliana of Ista Weyr, Enneth's rider, and how could she ever need anyone else's love?

* * *

**AN: t-d gasps in shock. I **_**finished**_**. **_**Again**_**. This is starting to become a habit. It's no good. I'm going to have to do another one just to see if I can keep up this winning streak. But I am determined to take a good holiday first - so expect to hear from me again in a couple of months! (Unless I break down and publish earlier).**

**Thanks so much to all of you who have reviewed me; your support does make such a huge contribution, and I can't stress how much it means to me, especially my faithful reviewers - I hope you won't be insulted if I call you my friends - D.M.Robb, boothnbones, Perndragonrider, paisley and all the others. I hope you enjoyed this final chapter - and that you'll be back on board next time!**

**Until then, farewell - and good luck!**

**t-d**


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